


Songs of Erebor

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU Smaug never came, Fluff, M/M, Singing, Thorin as a voice fetish, courting, more tags and relationship to come as we advance I guess, politics (not too much I swear), sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU The Arkenstone was never found, Thror's gold fever never got bad, and Smaug never attacked.<br/>Thorin is the royal heir, and he is rather bored, until he hears a dwarf singing, and he falls in love. But as it turned out, getting Bofur to love him back the easy part of it.<br/>Especially once a hobbit appeared in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alckalin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alckalin/gifts).



Thorin, son of Thrain, was by nature a suspicious dwarf. He was also a proud one, and his quick temper could have done with some work. And there was something to be said for his vanity and his enjoyment of good clothes and nice furs. But he was, after all, Prince under the Mountain, and he felt he had some right to be as he was. The kingdom he would someday rule was the greatest of all Middle Earth, his father was respected as a wise king by dwarves, elves and men alike, and Thorin himself had proved himself in battle against the goblins years ago. If that didn't allow him to have a few defects, then he didn't see what the point of being royalty even was.

And it wasn't as though he only had bad sides, really. He was kind to those below him -that was to say, every living creature, except his father. He was well read, though out of necessity more than pleasure, and his interests laid more in treaties and stories of great battles, than in novels and foolish tales. He had also been told often enough that he was as good a friend as ever was, and his lover had never yet had to complain of the way he was treated by the prince.

Though things had not always been easy with Bofur. For a prince of Erebor to fall for a miner, and a male one at that, had been rather scandalous. Not that dwarves shared the ridiculous ideas of men about two male lying together, but a prince was expected to continue the line of course. Thorin had disagreed. He had a brother and a sister to take care of such things for him, and by the time he had fallen in love, Dis had been with child for the second time. The line of Durin had nothing to fear.

And it was not as though he had decided whom he had fallen for, really.

 

* * *

 

He had been walking with Balin around the lowest levels of the mountains, inspecting some of the mines. They had heard of some problems there, and Thrain feared they had been digging too deep, the way it had happened in Khazad-dûm. His son had offered to see it for himself, feeling bored out of his wits. Peace was a nice thing, but not one that kept him very entertained. Some days he wished for something, _anything_ , to happen, so that he may not die of boredom before he even reach a hundred and thirty.

The inspection had gone well enough. Balin and him had agreed that it would probably be wiser to close the lower tunnels, since the stone there seemed too fragile to work safely. They were going up again, discussing and laughing, when Thorin's ears had caught a little tune, coming from a tunnel they were passing by. He had frozen on the spot.

The prince, who had heard the best singers of the kingdom, who had been at celebrations held by humans and elves, who knew the best voices of Middle Earth, had never known anything to sing like that. It was a voice deep and soft, one that reminded him of the purest mithril; something that could have all at once the greatest beauty and a strength that nothing could defeat. Thorin had felt like whoever owned that voice had put a spell on him. He simply had to find that dwarf, and to never let him go.

Following the song, the young prince had arrived near a group of miners having their lunch. They did not seem to care much for the singer, as if they were so used to the beauty of his voice that they no longer heard it. Thorin swore to himself that, once he had made that dwarf his, _he_ would always make it clear what a gift that voice was. But first, he needed to put a face on that voice, as the singer had his back turned to him. He took a few more steps toward the group, and all the miners rose to their feet when they recognize the royal heir. The last one to notice anything was his singing dwarf, who seemed too taken by his melody to see his companions moving. One of the others had to take his shoulder to take him out of his little world of music, and only then did he turn to face the prince.

He could not have been more than eighty or ninety, and it made Thorin feel almost guilty to still want him when he was so young. But he was the most charming young dwarf he had ever seen, with a fine moustache growing, and hair in two braids that turned upward at the end. He would have wanted to take him in his arms right there and then, bring him to his rooms, and never let go of him.

“May we help you, your highness?” had asked one of the miners.

“I had heard the singing,” Thorin mindlessly answered, still unable to take his eyes off the young dwarf.

“Did our little Bofur disturb you?” another miner worried, putting a hand on the singer's shoulder. “He's got himself a good voice that one, but not much taste for the songs he chooses I'm afraid. We'd told him elven ballads didn't have their place in dwarven mines. See, laddie? Even the prince disapproves.”

Thorin had wanted to protest. The prince did not disapprove _anything_. The boy would have sung goblins' songs and still be _lovely_. But that would have been improper of course. One did not act so bluntly in matters of love, especially not when one was a royal prince.

“Indeed, it is rather sad that he does not know more proper songs,” Thorin said, trying to look stern, then wanting to hug the boy when he saw the sad look on his face. “But he has a good voice, yes, and he should be trained. I will have a word with competent people to see if something can be arranged for it.”

The others thanked him for that, praising his generosity, requesting that Bofur, as they had called him, be properly thankful of the chance he was been given. But the young dwarf had only shot a dark look to the prince, the look of someone who knew he needed no training, and that the whole business was strange. That had pleased Thorin almost as much as his voice had. It seemed his little singer had a good brain as well as a great voice.

 

* * *

 

 

"Ye're a stupid _assbutt_ , and I don't need yer stupid lessons. I sing great, and this is all _stupid_."

The singing master shot a pleading look to Thorin, who sighed. The old dwarf had done nothing to deserve a student like Bofur, but then again, Bofur was right: he didn't really need lessons.

"I am your prince, and I say you are to learn," Thorin reminded him, cringing as he said it. It was about the worst way to gain the younger dwarf affections, and he knew it, but Bofur was making this so _difficult_.

The dwarf prince had had a very nice plan prepared to court the young miner. He had decided to come to as many of his music lessons as possible, giving him an occasion to compliment him on his voice, and from there, to ask him about his family, his hobbies, the sort of gems he preferred. It would have been nice and easy.

Instead, he found himself facing an angry teenager who thought it was perfectly normal to be insulting a prince. Thorin tried to hide it, but he found it... refreshing. And anger was a better thing than _indifference_ , wasn't it?

"I don't wanna sing today, and ye cannae make me!" Bofur yelled at his unfortunate master, who looked at Thorin as if to beg for help.

"You have to, lad," the exhausted old dwarf sighed. "It is important that you master your voice, and..."

"I don't wanna be a singer! I ain't a stupid singer, and I ain't a miner, and I swear I'm leaving this moment and never coming again, 'cause this is all _bollocks_!"

And before either Thorin or the music master could react, the boy had stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

"I won't see that one again," the master said with some regret. "Nice voice he had, but if I may dare a comment, my prince, you should not have sent him to me against his will."

"A voice like that must be _trained_."

"A voice like that must be enjoyed by those that boy likes, and none other, if that is what he wishes. If you ever want to hear him again, then I suggest you try actually talking to him. He's clever enough, when he forgets he's supposed to hate everyone, and if you give him a chance to _talk_ to you, he might do more than throw insults at you."

 Thorin refused to answer, fearing the other dwarf was right.

 

* * *

 

As the old master had foreseen, Bofur had not come for his next lesson, nor the following, though Thorin remained sure the boy would come to his senses. There was some respect due to a prince, and certainly the boy's family would not approve of him refusing a royal order very long.

But weeks passed, and the boy never came again. The music master asked Thorin for permission to consider their classes cancelled, and the prince had to agree. He felt like he had lost his chance, and dared not go to Bofur. There was no point in explaining what he had trully intended, after all. The boy had made it clear that he hated him, and it would have been pathetic of him to insist.

And so it was only through sheer luck that, in the following months, Thorin found himself having to inspect this of that tunnel near the place where he had first seen Bofur. And if he stopped everything he was doing whenever he heard someone singing, well, who could blame him, really? Once or twice, he was lucky, and he recognized the voice of his young miner. But he never dared to approach, knowing only too well that his attentions were unwelcome, and...

“Are you going to talk to that damn boy, or do I have to do it myself?” Balin grumbled next to him on one of those lucky occasions. “I like you, Thorin, but I swear if you make me come down here one more time, only to sigh after a dwarf you've barely ever spoken to, I'll have to hit you.”

“I don't know what you...”

“I'll use my brother's hammer too,” Balin threatened. “Trust me, it should knock come sense into you. So stop bothering me and talk to the boy. He's got a nice enough voice, I'll admit it, but it's been more than a year and we're all tired of seeing you pinning for him from a distance.”

“And when you say we, you mean...”

“Gandalf and me of course,” Balin said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was. Balin and that strange old wizard that sometimes came to Erebor had, over the year, become friends. It was well known that they took a great interest in the romances of others, to the point of betting on such things.

“I do _not_ approve of you and that old fool messing with my life,” Thorin protested. “Things are difficult enough as it is, and...”

“And you're too much of a coward to go to that boy and tell him that you messed up with that stupid idea of singing lesson, that you were only trying to find an excuse to see him, and that you want to spend the rest of your life with him. So, as I was saying, go talk to him, or your skull will meet my brother's mace.”

Thorin throw him a dark look.

“I'm your future king, you know. You're not _supposed_ to talk to me like that. But fine, I'm going. Because _I_ want to, and I have decided it is time I talk to him, not because of _you_.”

Balin sniggered at that, but the prince chose to ignore it. Refusing to gratify his old friend with even a look, he left and went toward his young miner's voice.

Each new step made him more nervous. This was, clearly, a terrible idea. The boy had a wonderful voice, but so far he had shown a terrible personality. Balin was right, he barely knew him. He was a miner, they had nothing in common. It was the worst idea of his entire life. It was a mistake. It was...

Thorin stopped. Just a few feet away, Bofur was sitting on the floor, singing some sort of nursery rhyme while carving a bit of wood with a knife. That caught Thorin's attention almost as much as his voice did. Few dwarves worked with wood. It was not their element. Wood was for elves and humans, and other such weak creature that didn't have the strength to work intensively with minerals. Carving wood was admitting your own weakness, it was claiming you were less than a dwarf, that you were choosing the easy way out, that you did not have the patience and talent to work with gold or stone.

Or so Thorin had always thought, until then.

What Bofur seemed to be carving was a small, delicate little figure of a dwarf, as detailed as any made of stone that the prince had ever seen. It looked like it had requested quite as much skill and patience as it would have if made of metal.

“That looks rather nice, what you're doing,”Thorin said, walking closer to the boy. “I didn't know you could make anything like that out of wood.”

The effect on the boy was entirely unexpected. Bofur jumped when he heard the prince's voice and when he recognized him, the young miner quickly stood up and threw both the knife and the wooden toy away from him.

“Don't tell me parents! They'll get so mad if ye tell them, please! I'll even go back to the lessons if ye want, just don't tell!”

“Why would I...”

“Swear ye won't tell!” Bofur insisted, looking mad from panic. “I'll do anything ye want!”

“Calm down, lad,” Thorin said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won't tell anyone anything, though I don't see why you mind so much. You're a dwarf of many talent, master Bofur.”

The young miner threw him a suspicious look.

“That ain't what ye're s'pposed to tell me. Ye're s'pposed to tell me I'm the shame of the entire race, 'cause no proper dwarf would ever work with... _that_.” He gestured toward the little wood dwarf, disgust and regret clear on his face. “I know I shouldn't, but that's what I like.”

“You can't help what you like, lad. And if what you like allows you to create something this nice, then who cares about being a proper dwarf. You've got talent.”

Bofur gave him another wary look.

“Ye're not s'pposed to say that either. In fact, ye're not s'pposed to talk to me at all. Me mom said the singing lessons were 'cause ye had _intentions_. Of the wrong sorts, if you know what I mean. 'Cause otherwise, a prince like ye wouldn't even look twice at someone like me. Ye know. A _commoner_.”

“My intentions are perfectly honourable!” Thorin protested. “And I don't see why you being a commoner is any problem at all. Balin's grand-parents were miners and stone cutters, and yet he is my friend.”

“Ye're telling me ye really have intentions?”

Bofur started laughing, as if it were the most ridiculous idea he had ever heard, and Thorin felt rather embarrassed. That was not at all how people were meant to react when they learned a royal prince wanted them as a companion. They were supposed to be flustered, blushing a lot, and then to say they didn't deserve such honour. You didn't laugh when a son of Durin made you a proposition. It was not done.

But Bofur had a rather nice laugh, and being merry made his eyes sparkle in a most enticing way, Thorin had to admit it.

“Well, I imagine I should be glad that my interest bring you joy of some sort,” the prince said, trying to sound offended. “This is no joke, though. I truly like you, and I wish to court you, if you will allow it, so that I might know you better, and allow you to know me.”

“Wait, ye mean like an official, proper courtship?” Bofur asked, his laughter suddenly gone. “From ye? To me? But why...”

“You've got a lovely voice,” Thorin admitted. “It might sound like a silly thing to base a courtship on, but your voice has captivated me since the first moment, and everything I have discovered about you since that day only made you more interesting.”

“I don't even know ye. I mean, until ten minutes ago, ye were just that boring prince who didn't like me singing. I don't know a thing 'bout ye.”

“I believe that is the whole point of courtship. I get to know you, and you get to know me. What do you have to lose?”

The young dwarf seemed to think about it for a moment. He did not seem convinced by the whole idea, and for a moment Thorin feared he would reject him. But just as he was losing hope,Bofur smiled at him.

“Well, I s'ppose it's worth a try, yeah? But ye're doing this the proper way, I'm warning ye. Me mum raised me well, ye know.”

 

* * *

 

The first step of a courtship properly done was to meet Bofur's friends, and let the lad meet Thorin's.

As it happened, Bofur's friends mostly meant his cousin Bifur (a strange, brooding lad who didn't talk a lot, but whose dark glares made it clear that Thorin would have great problems if he ever hurt Bofur) and his younger brother Bombur (a large boy with a large smile and a fondness for large meals). They were both rather nice, and though they were clearly surprised that the royal heir had taken a sudden interest in Bofur, they made not comments on it.

“Don't you have friends outside of your family?” Thorin asked afterward. “I remember the first time we met, you were with others...”

“Co-workers aren't friends. They're all right, but not to the point that I'd want them to meet you.”

Thorin remembered how the dwarves around Bofur that first time had all immediately assumed that his song must have bothered him. He did not ask again to meet them.

Things went quite as well when Bofur came to meet Balin, Dwalin and Frerin, though the young miner was clearly intimidated to be in the presence of such important people. It was one thing to know you were courted by a prince, and quite another to meet his advisor, his self-proclaimed bodyguard, and another prince. Thorin knew that Balin did not entirely approve the match, and that had worried him for a while, but the older dwarf remained as civil as ever. Dwalin was not quite as quiet, but that was to be expected, and he assaulted Bofur with all sorts of questions on his trade, offering to train him with weapons. From him, that was a true offer of friendship, and Thorin was relieved when Bofur agreed.

Things went even better with Frerin. The young prince had a certain fondness for the elves, with whom he got along more than fine, and when he learned that Bofur knew some of their songs, he was delighted.

“I'll have to take you with me to the Greenwoods then! And Thorin said you had a most wonderful voice too, we could show them dwarves can sing just as well as they do!”

“Thanks, highness,” Bofur had shyly mumbled. “ 'm not that good though, really. I just do it as a little bit of fun.”

“So do the elves, so don't you worry about that. They're rather proud of themselves, but I think we're just as good with music as they are. And it'd be fun! I've been trying to convince Thorin for years to come with me at one of king Thranduil's parties and sing a song or two, but he just won't do it. Says it's not _proper_ for the heir.”

“Well, it's not!” Thorin grumbled.

“Ye can sing?” Bofur asked, clearly surprised. “Ye never said”

“I'm not much good at it, really.”

“Don't you listen to him!” Frerin exclaimed. “He's got a voice that could make stones fall in love. If he weren't a prince, my brother would be a great bard. He plays the violin too, did he tell you that? Really, Thorin, how can you hope to seduce the lad if you don't tell him a single good thing about you? Don't tell me I'll have to be the one to make you look your best! You're just as bad as Dis.”

After that, Thorin complained a lot about his brother's lack of respect for his elders, and how he would never have dared talking like that to his older brother if he had had one, but his smile betrayed his good mood. Frerin and Bofur seemed to get along rather well, maybe because there wasn't much difference in their age, and that was good news for the future.

“You'll have to meet Dis next time,” the prince said as he walked Bofur back to his home. “She's got a terrible temper of course, but my nephews are the sweetest little dwarflings that ever were.”

“I'd love that,” Bofur assured him with a bright smile. “But you'll have to come and see Bombur again, he said you tell the best of stories, and I think he quite likes you.”

Thorin smiled back. Things were going well.

 

* * *

 

The next step was to announce their courtship to their families. That part made them both terribly nervous, and it took them nearly a year to get there. Thorin found that time was not wasted though, as it gave him many occasions to spend time with his young miner and to know him better. They were rarely alone of course, as that would have been improper at such a stage of courtship, but Bifur was the best chaperon they could have asked for, and he seemed quite happy to play that part for them.

Thorin thought it a proof of Bofur's trust that, after a few weeks, the younger dwarf started sculpting wood when they were together. He did it involuntarily the first few times, taking a piece of wood from his pocket as the prince was talking, then quickly hiding it as soon as he realized what he had been doing. But Thorin encouraged it, asking him what he was working on at the moment, requesting to see some of his creations. At first Bofur seemed suspicious, and no doubt he must have believed that to be a ploy to seduce him, but the prince's interest was genuine, and after a while the younger dwarf stopped worrying.

“I could find you a master, you know,” Thorin suggested one day, as they were alone with Bifur. “If working wood is what you desire, there are many men in Dale that could teach you. You're good at this, they'd all want you as an apprentice.”

“Not a very dwarvish trade, though.”

“We are mordern dwarves, we can do as we please. And if wood is not our usual tool, you still use it for dwarvish subjects, isn't that what matters?”

Bofur fidgeted the little figure he'd been carving, clearly uncomfortable. “Bad enough that you're courting a miner,” he mumbled. “But a woodcarver, for the heir to the throne? No one would ever allow it. And my family would never agree...”

“I would agree,” Bifur said behind them, making them both jump. “The princeling is right, you're good at that. Let him find you a master. Even if things don't work out for the two of you, you'll know a craft you enjoy.”

Thorin threw him a dark look, offended that Bofur's cousin thought his affections so shallow that the disapprobation of their families could change his mind. He wanted Bofur, and he wanted him happy, and if that meant taking the risk of pissing off a few traditionalists, then he'd do it gladly, and he said as much.

Bofur stuttered and mumbled and insisted that it was not necessary, but he was still smiling, and in the end, he agreed to let Thorin look for a master for him.

 

* * *

 

Meeting Bofur's parents had been nice enough, and they had been very welcoming, though worried that the boys hadn't first announced their intentions to Thrain. But if the king allowed the courtship to continue, they would be glad to accept it too.

 

* * *

 

Thrain was not quite as happy. He had rather hoped his eldest son would settle with a woman, and give more heirs to their line. He had also expected Thorin to choose someone of noble blood, though of course there was nothing _wrong_ as such with marrying a commoner. The news that his potential son in law was now training to sculpt wood was just the last drop.

“I can't give you my blessing, and I can't agree to that courtship,” he declared severely when they declared themselves to him. “I'm surprised you even thought it worth asking, Thorin. That lad is not for you.”

“I believe you are mistaken about my reason for talking to you, father,” Thorin coldly answered. “I did not come for your blessing, but merely to state my intentions. It saddens me that you do not approve, yes, but that will not stop me from having the dwarf I want. There is only one who can convince me to stop my attentions to Bofur, and that's Bofur himself.”

Thrain threw a dark look to the poor miner, who blushed and lowered his head. But when Thorin took his hand, Bofur looked at him and smile shyly, and that was all the encouragement the prince needed.

“I love him and I want him,” Thorin repeated. “Your agreement is not necessary for that.”

“It is if you want to marry him,” Thrain reminded him. “Or are you willing to let that boy be called your _whore_ for the rest of his life?”

That made Thorin hesitate. He had not thought of that, of course. He had rather hoped that, at that point, his father would have been overwhelmed but the truthfulness of his feelings, and that he'd say he agreed to anything they wanted. Clearly, things weren't going according to plan.

But then, he felt Bofur's hand move in his, and their finger tangled as the younger dwarf proudly raised his head.

“I am willing to be called anything at all,” Bofur claimed, “if that means I can stay with him.”

Angry by that unexpected turn of events, Thrain had sent them away, claiming that he had made his choice, and would not change it. Thorin decided he didn't care, and when they were alone again, the only thing that stopped him from kissing Bofur was his promise that he would go about this courtship the right way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin keeps courting Bofur, Thrain keeps disapproving, and the elves are having a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUCH shorter than the last chapter, though to be honest the first one was really a bit long for my taste.

Even without Thrain's benediction, their courtship continued. Much to Thorin's joy, he saw that Bofur was no longer tolerating his affection, but had started to return it. The lad smiled at him a lot more, and more sincerely too. He would even tease the prince sometimes, especially when Frerin was around. These two got along a bit too well sometimes, actually, and Frerin kept asking to take Bofur to see the elves. Thorin was entirely in favour of them being friends, but if anyone was to take Bofur anywhere, that was _him_ and no one else.

But now was no time for travels. Bofur was too busy learning his new trade to think of going anywhere. As was tradition, Thorin would try to come a least once a month to the wood-carver’s workshop and spend a few days there, trying to understand how it all worked. Wood definitively wasn't his thing, but if didn't share Bofur's affinity for it, he had to admire the amount of work it required, quite as much as stone or metal.

In return, Bofur would follow Thorin in his royal duties whenever his master allowed him a day off. He was not allowed to attend Thrain's council of course, the king still refusing their alliance, but there were plenty of other things to be done. For example following Thorin on various inspections of the mountains, staying with him as he worked on treaties with the elves and the men, and exchanged letters with all sorts of important people. Sadly, Bofur could not read well,and wrote even less, a fact that seemed to bother him more and more as time passed.

“What good is a king consort that can't help ye with these things?” he sighed one day. “No good, that's what. Probably why yer father won't allow ye to properly court me.”

“My father refuses you because he's an idiot who thinks all his children should be making babies and ensure the future of our line,” Thorin grumbled. “As far as I'm concerned, Dis already takes care of that fairly well, and I'm sure if we give Frerin some time, he'll be more than happy to let us know whether elves and dwarves can interbreed. As for me, I think children are all very well, as long as they are other people's children.”

“But...”

“But nothing. Had I wanted a scholar, I'd be courting Balin, or that Dori lad who's helping him with the library. I do not want either of them. I want _you_. And you may not read or write as well as a prince, but you know how things really work in Erebor, how the people who work down their act and feel, and I believe that makes you more of an asset as my future consort than anyone else that my father would prefer.”

Bofur blushed and looked away. “When ye say it like that...”

“I say it as it is,” Thorin assured him, taking his hand.

The other dwarf looked at him then, a shy smile on his lips, before shifting his hand to intertwine their fingers. It was almost shockingly intimate, so early into their courtship, but Thorin rather liked it. But then, Bofur moved closer to him, and their foreheads almost touched, the dwarven equivalent of touching lips among humans, and the temptation was great for the prince. But if holding hands was bold, kissing would have been scandalous. And he _had_ promised to do this courtship as properly as a courtship could ever be done.

“Well, I think that's it,” Thorin mumbled, getting up quickly and letting go of his intended's hand. “I believe Balin wanted to check a few things with me, about Thranduil's next visit here, we had better go and meet him.”

Bofur looked rather annoyed at that, but it didn't really worry Thorin. Balin was about as supportive as Thrain, and while he did not openly disapprove, he did not really try to hide it.

 

* * *

 

After that conversation, Thorin started being tempted more and more often to engage in physical contact with his beloved. It was as if that kiss they had almost exchanged had suddenly made him aware of all the moments when such things could happen. Their hands would accidentally brush as they walked side by side, Bofur would tilt his head just _that way_ , or smile like that. In one memorable and terrible occasion, the younger dwarf even fell asleep on Thorin's shoulder. That time, it had been easy to resist temptation, though. Bifur had been with them, and Thorin knew that, prince or not, he wouldn't get out of there alive if he tried to take advantage of the situation.

Then came a few months were they were both too busy to spend time together. Bofur's master had received several important orders of toys: the 650th birthday of the young prince of Greenwoods was coming, and the elf had decided to make gifts to all the children of Dale, Erebor and Greenwoods. And if it meant a lot of work for Bofur, it quite complicated Thorin's life too, since there were royal presents to organize, the travel to the birthday party to prepare (Dis was the only one to be excused, on account of her children, and she enjoyed teasing Thorin about it. Neither of them was overly fond of elves), and of course there was still the usual business to be attended. If at least Thorin could have brought Bofur with him to the Greenwoods, it wouldn't have been so bad, but Thrain would not hear of it.

“Even if you had my permission to court him, which you do not, it has been barely three years since you've first met him, Balin tells me, and not even two years since anything resembling wooing has started. Even in normal conditions it would be too early to have a partner attend to official events by your side, and since this relationship can lead _nowhere_ anyway...”

“You can prevent me from marrying him,”Thorin growled, “But you can't make me not spend my life with him, if I choose to.”

“You may ruin the lad's reputation however you want, if that's all the consideration you have for him, but do try to remember that you are a _prince_ , and that you have duties to your family and your country. Now go. Your lover is not coming, and this conversation is over.”

Thorin knew better than to insist, and after a short bow, he left. He knew Bofur was in Erebor for once, his master having allowed him a break after the good work he had done. Thorin went straight to see him, to tell the news.

Bofur only laughed.

“No big surprise there,” he said. “Yer father ain't fond of me, dear. But it's nice of ye to have tried. Means a lot t'me.”

“Not entirely selfless on my part,” Thorin assured him. “The elves parties are a chore if you have nothing to joke with. I'll have to talk to Balin now, and that's not nearly as nice as it would have been to spend more time with you.”

“If I'd come, yer brother woulda made me sing with the elves, and ye'd not have talked t'me much anyway, so it's probably better like that. And when ye come back, we'll both have more time. Ain't seen you much lately, and there's a nice tavern near where I work. They do a nice rabbit stew. Could go there, next time you come see me.”

Food was not a part of dwarvish courting. Taking someone you liked to eat something would have been as stupid as, say, giving them _flowers_. But Thorin knew that men did such things when they were in love, and Bofur had been working among humans long enough that some of their strange habits could have rubbed off on him. Not that he minded much, in the end: time spent with Bofur was always appreciated, and human food was nice, though a bit exotic sometimes.

“Very well,” Thorin said with a smile. “As soon as I am back, we shall go there. Now I must go, if you do not mind. There is still much to be done, and we're leaving tomorrow... but I wished to see you one last time.”

That made Bofur laugh for some reason (probably thought that Thorin was being _dramatic_ again, cheeky thing that he was), but the young wood-carver also had a faint blush that was most enticing, and his eyes were sparkling, as they did sometimes when he was in a particularly good mood. And there was something about a happy Bofur that made Thorin very happy too. Being happy made him stupid and careless. That was the only way to explain why he suddenly bowed toward Bofur to let their forehead touch delicately.

The younger dwarf gasped at that, and Thorin immediately pulled back, horrified by what he had done. Bofur's entire face had gone as red as a ruby, and he was too shocked to speak. Of course he was shocked. Kissing? When their courtship still wasn't official, when they had known each other for so little time, _when Thorin had promised that he would do everything according to the rules_.

“I am _so_ sorry,” Thorin stuttered. “I... this will not happen again, I promise you. I... I will be going now. Have a nice day.”

“Thorin...”

“Must go. See you later. Goodbye.”

And before Bofur could protest or call the courtship off, Thorin ran away.

 

* * *

 

Frerin was the only member of the royal family to enjoy prince Legolas's birthday. Thrain was too busy pretending he wasn't impressed by the party to allow himself to have any fun, and Thorin was so worried about what Bofur would say when he was back to enjoy himself. Seeing his brother laughing and joking with every single elf he could see, flirting with them even, when their father wasn't looking, didn't improve his mood. Damn Frerin and his capacity to be adored by everyone. As if Thorin too didn't want to be singing and laughing and dancing. Not with elves of course, tall idiots that they were, but with Bofur. Mahal, what he wouldn't give for a dance with the other dwarf...

But that was something that couldn't happen until the last stage of courtship, after they had exchanged engagement hair rings to show that they were promised to each other. And even if Bofur forgave him the kiss, they needed royal permission before they could exchange engagement rings, and that wouldn't happen. But maybe, in a decade or two, if Bofur hadn't change his mind, he might convince him to dance with him, in private. Just the two of them. And probably Bifur, for the sake of propriety. Still, the idea of Bofur's body against his was... nice.

“Finally smiling, brother?” Frerin teased him. “That's good. You look like father when you frown.”

“And you look like Dis when you dance.”

“Good. Dis is _terrifying_ , and more of a dwarf than either you or I will ever be. But what makes you smile then? Certainly not the food, you've barely touched it, and you're not even drinking. May I dare a wild guess and assume it's about a certain singing dwarf?”

Thorin grunted. “You may assume whatever you want, it's not my problem.”

“You are no fun, you know. Finally someone near me is courting, and I mean _properly_ courting, not like Dis who just _got pregnant_ and forced everyone to accept the match, and you won't let me _tease_ you about it.”

“The day father accepts Bofur, I swear I'll let you make fun of me as much as you want.”

“Then it'll never happen,” Frerin sighed. “Father is just as stubborn as you are. But at least, Bofur doesn't seem to mind the unofficialness of the whole thing, so there's that. Have you kissed him yet?”

“That is no business of yours,” Thorin snapped. “Courting is a process that requires time, and...”

“Dis kissed Gili for the first time not a month after meeting him.”

“Can you please stop comparing me to her? Dis is not a reference. For anything. Ever. I dread to imagine how her kids will turn out, with such a mother.”

“They'll turn out fine, and so will you if you follow her example a bit more. Think what you will, brother dearest, I am sure that your Bofur wouldn't mind it if you were a little less proper with him, of course.”

And just like that, Frerin left him to go dance with yet another elf, a nice young lass who seemed extremely friendly toward the dwarf prince. Thorin was fairly sure it wasn't the first dance these two shared either.

Well, maybe if Frerin tried to court an elf, it would encourage their father to reconsider his opinion of Bofur. That was always something to hope for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dis is the brain of the family, Thorin is slightly insecure, and Thrain probably regrets ever having children.

They stayed in Mirkwood for a month. A full, entire month, stuck with elves. Elves and Frerin. Mordor would have been a nicer place to be, as far as Thorin was concerned. Damn elves and their lack of sense of time. Probably didn't even realize they were bother people, with their never ending parties. And some people had an actual kingdom to rule too, as he reminded his father.

“ _I_ have a kingdom,” Thrain grunted in answer. “ _You_ just want to get back to that... _wood-carver_ of yours, and this alone should be enough to make me stay as long as Thranduil wants me to.”

Except it wasn't, of course. The two kings got along much better when they couldn't actually _see_ each other, and while Thranduil couldn't really hint that he had had enough of all these dwarves in his forest, it was clear that everyone was getting tired of it. Thrain finally announced that it was time for them, and pretended he couldn't see his eldest son dancing from joy, or the youngest looking heart-broken.

Considering his third child was _Dis_ , sometimes Thrain couldn't help but envy anyone who didn't have heirs.

 

* * *

 

After coming back in Erebor, there was much to do, and Thorin wasn't able to go see his lover straight away. Instead he sent him a letter offering to have lunch in that human tavern of Dale as soon as he'd be free. Bofur didn't answer, but that was a good sign. The wood-carver had no affinities with written words, and they had already agreed that if he didn't answer a request from Thorin, it meant he agreed. That meant that they usually exchanged letter only if they really had something to say, and that Thorin would never receive a proper love letter, but he would live with that, especially if it made thing easier for Bofur.

It was a month before they could find time for each other, and the closer the day of their reunion was, the more stressed Thorin was. When they had parted he had _kissed_ Bofur, _without permission_ , in contradiction of everything he had promised at the beginning of his courtship. If there were any problems, he'd just tell Bofur that the idea of being again away from him had been too much, and that he hadn't managed to control himself.

There was no need to tell how he had dreamed of that kiss for months now, of that kiss and of many, _many_ more things he wanted to do to the other dwarf.

 

* * *

 

It felt nice, seeing Bofur again after all that time, properly seen him rather than just stealing a few minutes before they both had to go back to something else. And the wood-carver must have missed him too, because as soon as they left his master's workshop he took Thorin's hand, even though they were in public, and among human who always seemed so shocked to see dwarves in love.

“Good thing your cousin isn't here,” Thorin chuckled. “If he saw us now, he'd probably accuse me of being too forward.”

“Exactly why I suggested we met here rather than in Erebor,” Bofur answered with a grin. “I like Bifur a lot, and I know things need to be done proper and all, but it's not often I get to have ye alone and all to myself.”

Thorin did not know how to answer that, and so he did not. At least, that probably meant that Bofur did not mind the kiss too much.

The tavern's food was just as good as promised, even with all its greenery. But humans had a way of cooking greens that made them a lot more appealing than elfish food. Thorin had never thought that carrots and tomatoes could ever be that good, though it might have been helped by the fact that they had cooked in the grease of a pig. Humans knew how to live, sometimes. It must have had something to do with how short their lives were, they had to make the best of what little time they had.

“And that's probably why elves cook so terribly,” Thorin explained to Bofur who was laughing so hard he almost chocked. “After all these centuries everything must taste the same anyway, so they probably don't see the point of trying anymore.”

“Ye'll have terrible diplomatic problem with them one day, if ye keep talking of them like that,” Bofur scolded with a kind smile.

“That is no problem at all, since I'll have you to make everything better. I will upset all sorts of people, and you will make them see I meant no offence.”

“I'd have to still be by yer side then, and nothing's sure, eh? So mind yer manner, my prince, and don't insult yer allies too much.”

It felt like a cold shower, hearing Bofur mentioning so casually the idea that they might not still be in love by the time Thorin became king.

“Are you thinking of leaving me any time soon then?” the prince asked dryly.

“Not for as long as ye'll have me,” Bofur assured him, frowning. “But things aren't looking too good for us, are they? Yer father can't stand me, my parents want me to stop our courting 'cause they fear Thrain's anger...”

Thorin's face fell. He had been having such a nice time until that point. It was rather cruel of his beloved to have acted to friendly, _flirty_ even, to suddenly announce that things couldn't go on this way.

“Don't look so cross!” Bofur grumbled. “I ain't leaving ye yet. I won't do it at all, if I can help it. But ye've got responsibilities and all, and I know sooner or later ye'll have to settle down with someone your father approves, and that ain't gonna be me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I do not care what my father thinks of you? You have Dis's approval, that should be good enough for you. My sister doesn't usually approve of anyone.”

That made Bofur grin.

“Fierce one she is, yer sister. But she only likes me 'cause her little ones stop crying when I hold them.”

“Which means you have the friendship of the most stubborn lady in all of Erebor, Frerin likes you, all the heirs to the throne love you... what do you care if the king is an idiot, you are already part of the family.”

Bofur blushed at that and, rising from his seat, he pressed his forehead against Thorin's, in the sweetest kiss the prince had ever known.

“Now this is really being forward,” Thorin stammered. “Not that I am complaining, jewel. This is... quite nice. A bit public, but very nice. Maybe I'll try to see you without your cousin more often.”

It had been meant as a joke and nothing more, but Bofur's blush deepened. “Maybe ye should do that, yeah,” he said, avoiding the prince's gaze. “I really wouldn't mind if ye did.”

And this, really, was all the encouragement Thorin needed before kissing his beloved again.

 

* * *

 

“You should have him move in with you,” Dis said one day. “He'll keep worrying as long as he lives with his family.”

Thorin had come to see her to help with Kili, who had caught a cold and was even more exhausting than usual. He hadn't expected to receive sentimental advice while he cleaned his youngest nephew's nose.

“I can't have him live with me yet,” he protested. “We're not even properly engaged yet, and we will never be, I fear. Father is so stubborn.”

“Who cares about father? Make your lad a pearl, braid it in his hair, show the whole mountain he's yours, take him home, and that's it.”

“I can't get him pregnant and force everyone to accept the match,” Thorin reminded her. “Just because it worked for _you_ doesn't mean it'll work for _everyone_.”

Dis laughed at that, as if he'd said something very stupid. She did that often. Everyone found it very annoying, but it was hard to complain when she was usually right anyway.

“You don't have to force the match,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “You just have to live as if the thing was done, and with enough time, no one will remember that you're not actually married.”

“It will never work.”

“Worked well enough fro grampa and his wife,” Dis assured him with a wicked grin. “Didn't get married until Thror became king, did you know that? His father wouldn't approve, because her father wasn't of noble blood. And if _Thror_ could do it, I don't see why you can't.”

“Where did you ever hear something that ridiculous?”

“Granny told me, not long before she died. I was already seeing Gili back then, and she wanted to help. I managed without it, but it's a good idea anyway and it shouldn't go to waste, don't you agree?”

“Dis, you are positively wicked, and I think we're all very lucky you aren't first in line for the throne.”

“My _dear_ big brother, had I wanted to be queen, both you and Frerin would have died _years_ ago.”

She smiled, and Thorin shuddered. He was fairly sure it was no joke.

* * *

 

Thorin had thought at first that his sister's idea was a silly one, and one that would never work. But it was increasingly difficult to resist the temptation of touching Bofur whenever they were together. The fact that Bofur didn't mind said touching certainly didn't help.

“I'm not some fragile human maiden, ye know,” he once teased the prince. “I don't mind the looking, but if ye ever want to see more than that, I'm sure we can arrange something.”

“Your cousin will _skin me alive_ if I touch you before we are properly engaged!”

“Then ye shouldn't tell him, hm?” Bofur answered, grinning, his hand tangled in Thorin's hair.

If Balin hadn't arrived then, interrupting them, the dwarf prince was certain he would have given in to temptation. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not for Balin's terrible timing, but it made one thing clear: they could not go on like that much longer.

That meant he had three choices possible: making Thrain change his mind (unlikely), taking Bofur to his bed right there and then, as if he were nothing more than a whore (not something he could ever do to his lovely wood-carver) or follow Dis's plan. And much as he hated for his little sister to be right about anything, this time, her advice was actually a good one.

But he would do that the proper way, of course. Just because they had to forsake the king's blessing didn't mean they would miss a single other step of a proper courtship. He was a prince after all, he was supposed to be an example for his people, and he had promised he would court Bofur properly.

That meant an engagement ring to put in his lover's hair. Traditionally, they should have talked about it first, so that both of them had time to make one, but Thorin decided to do things his own way.

One might have thought that thought that the prince was stalling because he wasn't sure how Bofur would take this offer.

One would have been wrong. Thorin was not afraid of rejection, and of losing the dwarf he loved by making the bold and scandalous proposition of not getting married at all, nor did he fear Bifur's reaction once he would learn of his plans.

He was just... doing things is own way.

* * *

 

It took him a while to make his gold pearl. Thorin wanted it to be perfect. Nothing less than perfection would have been good enough for Bofur. He had even been tempted to make a pearl out of mithril, but Dis and Frerin had managed to changed his mind, reminding him that he was entirely hopeless at working that metal. Not that he was much better with gold, to be honest. He had always had more of a taste for iron, and sometimes copper, though that was just a silly hobby for his spare time. He couldn't make a beard of iron, not for a dwarf who wasn't a warrior, and copper would have been perfectly insulting. It was a metal good for the _elves_. Gold was the only option.

And because he had to work with gold, Thorin had great difficulties making something nice. It took him weeks, and dozens of attempts, before he could be even slightly satisfied with his pearl. Only when Balin insisted that it was done, and that he would kill him in his sleep if he had to come with him to the forges another time, only then Thorin accepted that his engagement pearl was ready.

And that, it turned out, had been the easy part.

Again, one might have thought that Thorin was unbelievably nervous at the idea of proposing to the dwarf he loved.

One would have been right.

Thorin was terrified. So many things could go wrong. Maybe Bofur liked him, but not enough to risk his future and reputation for him. Or maybe he just didn't love Thorin enough to spend the rest of his life with him. Maybe he just didn't love him. Bofur had been so reluctant to start their courting after all, and certainly he had seemed to welcome it more lately, but maybe it was just Thorin deluding himself? After all, what did he have to offer?

“You did _not_ just ask that,” Dis whined, looking ready to strangle him. “I swear Thorin, I never took you for the self-deprecating sort, but clearly you are no better than a child in his seventies!”

“But...”

“No but! You are going to write to the lad, ask him to come join you in your chambers next time his master gives him a leave, and then you are going to make him live with you or I swear I'll throw you out the mountain, because if you can't ask someone to marry you, then you are even less fit to be king than Frerin could ever be.”

“I can hear you,” Frerin grumbled. “I'm right here, you know. But Thorin, I agree with her, you should just go ask him. Do you know, Balin got a bet about you and Bofur? With that weird homeless wizard friend of his. You don't want Balin to lose a bet, do you? You know how he gets when that happens.”

“Are you suggesting that I propose to Bofur so that Balin can win a bet?” Thorin asked, positively horrified by his brother lack of delicacy.

“No,” Dis sighed. “We are suggesting you propose to him because the unresolved sexual tension between you two is becoming _unbearable_ , and you seriously need to fuck that lad before you die from sheer frustration.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, and Dis grinned.

“I may also have also bet with the wizard,” she admitted. “And if you don't like Balin when he's lost, then you don't want to see what will happen if that damn crazy old human ends up wining against me.”

“Your skills in argumentation have always impressed me, Dis. Sometimes I think Frerin and I should renounce our claim to the throne just to see you messing with the entire kingdom.”

“Do not tempt me, brother. Do not tempt me.”

 

* * *

 

In the end, Thorin wrote to Bofur to propose that they met in Erebor. Not because he wanted to _fuck the lad_ , as his sister had so delicately phrased it, but because he could not be left in doubt any longer. He had to know if Bofur truly wanted him as a partner or not, and he had to know it soon.

The wood-carver didn't answer to the letter that asked him to come two weeks later, and meet Thorin in his chamber, meaning he agreed. Or that there was a problem with the post. Thorin was suddenly feeling very frustrated with their little system.

And as if it weren't bad enough, when the day where they were supposed to meet arrived, everything started going bad. Dis had an argument with Gili, and the poor lad came crying to Thorin, soon joined by Frerin who had been unlucky enough to meet his sister right after that argument. Then Dis herself had arrived, apparently determined to make everyone's life a living hell, simply because Thrain had decided to plan Fili's engagement to some princess from the Iron Hills without consulting anyone. So the three of them had gone to see the king, who had explained in very clear terms that he had seen what happened when you let people choose their lovers on their own, and that he wouldn't let the young princes make the same mistakes as his children. There had been a great argument then, with no inconsiderable amount of yelling and possibly some instances of throwing things at people because they were stupid.

It took them most of the day, but they at least managed to have the engagement called off, and even made the king promise that he would never again try to take the sentimental lives of his grand-sons in his own hands.

By the time the whole thing was over, Thorin was exhausted and had almost forgotten all about his meeting with Bofur. It came to him as a shock when he entered his chamber to find his wood-carver waiting for him.

Though part of the shock was because the other dwarf was lying on his bed, and wore no clothes beside his hat.

“I'm glad ye're here,” the younger dwarf said. “Was starting to get cold.”

“You are naked.”

“I've noticed, yeah.”

“You are naked, on my bed, Bofur.”

“I've noticed that too.”

“ _Why_ are you naked on my bed?”

“Well, Thorin, when two dwarves like each other very, very much...”

The prince threw him a dark look. “I am not joking, Bofur!”

“Neither am I,” the younger dwarf said, looking very serious. His smile soon came back, though. “Come on Thorin, I know I asked ye to do things nice and proper when we started this, but that was then, and this is now. Proper is the last thing on my mind now. Maybe yer dad doesn't approve, but that doesn't mean I can't still want ye, and there's no way I'm waiting until he changes his mind to have ye. I love ye, and I want ye, so come and have me.”

Thorin was fairly sure he was blushing. There was no way on earth he wasn't blushing, not with Bofur naked on his bed, saying he loved him. The prince almost ran to join him and ravish him, but through a tremendous effort of will, he managed to stay calm, and instead of going to his bed, he went to his desk to fetch a small casket.

“There is nothing that I desire more than to... have you,” Thorin said, finally walking toward the bed. “To be perfectly honest, jewel, that is... part of the reason I asked you to come here today.”

“Just part of it? What's the rest, then?”

“This,” Thorin answered, opening the casket to show the engagement pearl. Bofur gasped, admiring the golden jewellery for a moment. The younger dwarf's cheek were a bright red as he started reaching for the pearl, but he stopped his hand and looked at Thorin with pleading eyes.

“Why are ye doing this to me?” he whispered. “Yer dad can't have accepted us, he's not the type to change his mind. Why are ye giving me this?”

“Because I will have you, love.” Thorin answered, bowing to let their foreheads touch in a soft kiss. “And not just tonight, but every night and every day, for the rest of my life. With or without my father's consent, I want you for my consort, and I want the world to know that we belong together. I want you to wear the pearl I made for you, and I want you to make one for me to wear, so they might all see that I am yours. Would you agree to that?”

Bofur chuckled soflty. “Can't think of anything I'd want more than that, honestly. Would you... put it in me hair, please?”

Thorin nodded and sat down on the bed next to his fiancé (or husband? They'd have to decide on a term, but that would come later) and he removed the tie on one of Bofur's braids, letting his fingers run on the dark hair before picking a lock and carefully braiding it before putting the golden pearl on.

“You look beautiful like that,” Thorin said, softly stroking his lover's beard.

“What, naked and blushing and with half my hair down?” Bofur joked. “Not what I'd called a beauty, I'm sure.”

“But you are. Because as of now, you are _mine_.”

“I've been yers for longer than that, Thorin, son of Thrain,” the younger dwarf mumbled. “Ain't my fault ye never managed to see it before.”

“Then I apologize for how blind I have been, jewel. But you are mine, and I am yours, and I believe we were talking about me having you, weren't we?”

“Ye put a pearl on me and ye think it'll be that easy?” Bofur teased, his fingers darting to Thorin's clothes and starting to work on the buttons and buckles. “I've been raised better than that, ye know.”

“Which explains why you are already naked and I am not,” Thorin answered, undressing as fast as he could, a large smile on your face. “I _dread_ to think what it'd be like if you were to not act proper.”

Bofur laughed at that, and proceeded to show the prince exactly how little he cared about propriety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are.. slowly... getting.. there...  
> People have asked how Bilbo will fit in the picture. Well, if all goes according to plan, he should make his first apparition in the next chapter, yay!:D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people do or do not threaten Thorin, Thrain is stupidly stubborn (in his son's opinion) and there is a time lapse that brings Gandalf back to Erebor.  
> And Frerin may or may not have a child.

Bofur moved in with Thorin the following day.

This, of course, prompted a great number of jokes from Dis and Frerin, all of them of very poor taste in Thorin's opinion, but he didn't care. If he had still had any doubts, waking up next to Bofur that morning would have convinced him once and for all that this was the way things were meant to be.

Of course, Bofur's family protested. It was one thing to have your eldest son courted by a prince, and quite another to have him live with that prince outside of wedlock, and with no hope of setting things right until another hundred years at least, since Thrain was still healthy and of a line that often lived long. But nothing they could say would make Bofur change his mind about the whole thing, and then to the general surprise, Bifur spoke in favour of the match.

“The prince makes him happy,” he just said, “and I have yet to see him work toward anything but Bofur's happiness when they are together. I cannot say as much of those who had shown interest in him in the past, nor even of those who claimed to be his friend. Propriety is of little importance when one's happiness is in the balance.”

Everyone nodded at that. Thorin half expected his husband's cousin to add something along the line of _And anyway if it ends badly I will cut his balls with a rusted axe,_ but he didn't. Somehow, that was even more frightening, the idea he trusted him with Bofur's heart so much that he didn't see the point of making threats.

In the end, when threats finally came, it was from Dis and Frerin. But they were still directed at Thorin, much to Bofur's amusement.

“I will feed Kili with prune and hide his nappies everywhere in your room if you ever hurt the lad,” Dis promised.

“And I'll make sure father sends you in a diplomatic mission to the Greenwoods for at least a year,” Frerin added, looking deadly serious. “And we'll send Kili's nappies there too, so that your shame will follow you everywhere like their smell.”

“Aren't you supposed to feel protective about _me_?” Thorin complained, trying to hide how pleased he was that they had accepted Bofur so much.

“Why would we protect you?”

“Well, I'm your brother, for one thing.”

“That you are, and if you do anything bad to Bofur, you're an idiot too,” Dis said with a smile. “And I don't care much for idiots, even when they're family, so I'd advise you behave, hm?”

* * *

 

Thrain was a good deal less happy with the way things were happening. As soon as he learned about it (and they _did_ manage to hide it from him for almost three years, in the end, with some help from the others) he ordered them to stop what he called their shameful behaviour.

It was the start of a great dispute between the king and his heir. Thrain refused to talk to his son again until he agreed to break off his affair with Bofur and to marry instead someone of noble blood. As for Thorin, he had promised that if any direct action was taken to separate him from his lover, he would renounce his claim to the throne and live like a commoner, if it came to it.

“I mean it!” He told Bofur that night. “I can certainly find employment of some sort, if I need to, and then I'll make sure you have all the comforts you deserve.”

“I ain't the one who needs comfort, ye know. I lived with my mum and dad and Bombur and Bifur and his parents, before you came. Ye're the one with a bed big enough for a dozen elves. And I've got a job, and one that pays well, or will pay well once I stop being an apprentice. So I think if ye renounce yer throne, I'll be the one taking care of ye.”

Thorin sniggered at that ridiculous idea, but that was the wrong reaction, and it made Bofur glare at him.

“What? Think I can't do that? Not good enough to allow ye to live the way ye're used to, 'that it? Well, I'm more likely to make a living with my work than ye'll ever be, let me tell ye that.”

“Are you saying I cannot _work_?”

Bofur didn't answer right away.

“I think ye don't know what it's like to work 'cause you got no other choice,” he said in the end. “It's not yer fault, ye just never had to. But that means ye don't realize what life would be like if ye stopped being the royal heir, if ye had to get up every morning to do yer job and not stop till evening, no matter how tired ye are or how boring the work is. There's night when I can't eat 'cause I'm too tired even for that, and walking home is hell 'cause every bone in my body is hurting, but I still do it 'cause I got no choice. And that's good, 'cause it means I'm lucky enough to have food every day. Have that ever happened to ye?”

“Not really, no. There have been some hard days, when I was younger and still learning to handle weapons, but I don't think it has ever been as bad as what you're saying.”

Bofur smiled and took his hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly against it.

“To be honest, hasn't happened to me in a while either. That was more when I still worked underground, in the mines. But there's no saying I wouldn't have to go back there, if yer father really got angry. Not many people would give a job to a dwarf who's got the King under the Mountain against him.”

“I am still not going to apologize for loving you,” Thorin said in a warning tone. “I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to apologize because he is a stubborn fool.”

“Thank the Maker, ye're not at all like that,” Bofur teased him. “And I'm not asking ye to apologize! Mahal knows that you can't be blamed for loving me, it's something most people do once they've met me. I'm sure yer father is just jealous he didn't meet me before ye. But ye've got to not anger him further, if ye can.”

“I will do my best, as long as he never again calls you a _whore_. You are my _husband_ , whether he likes it or not.”

“Let yer father call me what he wants, if that pleases him. As long as ye and I know the truth, I don't care.”

But Thorin _did_ care.

And he was not one to forgive easily.

* * *

 

Still, on the whole, everything worked as Dis had announced. After a decade or two of living together, everyone was used to the idea that the heir to the throne had chosen a commoner for his husband, and Bofur even proved to be rather popular in the kingdom. Not that it surprised Thorin, of course. His lover was nothing if not utterly loveable and charming. Only Thrain still resisted his charm, though at that point, his children half suspected he refused to acknowledge Bofur out of pride more than any personal dislike.

After all, the king had more heirs than he could ever use. Fili and Kili were everything that anyone could ask from young princes (Balin liked to point out they weren't the brightest lads around, to which Dis always answered that they were from Durin's line, so it was only to be expected). Thrain was terribly fond of the boys, and much to Thorin's envy, he let them get away with things he'd never have allowed from his children.

Then again, the relationship between the king and his eldest son had become nearly non-existent at that point. Not that they ever said anything about it, of course. But that was the point of it. They never said anything at all.

Thorin claimed it was the only way he had found not to say anything unkind to his father.

To which Bofur replied that they were awfully alike, the two of them. Invariably Thorin would grumble and complain and take the Maker as a witness that he was nothing like his father, until his lover rolled his eyes and laughed. And when he laughed, Thorin simply could not stay mad at him.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like seeing me angry, jewel.”

“If ye still have doubts 'bout it, then ye're very slow and I need to tease ye more”

“That is no way to talk to a prince, you know.”

“When ye're naked and in my bed, ye're my husband, not a prince, and I talk to ye as I like.”

“Such authority. You'll make a fine queen, some day, if Dis doesn't kill us all to take over.”

“She can't kill me, her boys love me. Ye, on the other hand...”

It was all going well. Very well.

Probably too well, as a matter of fact. And, as always when things were going too well, Gandalf came back, one day.

Not that there was anything inherently bad about the wizard, of course. He was a nice enough fellow (Balin got along with him fantastically well), full of good advice (that no one wanted to follow) and immensely wise (as long as he hadn't smoked or drunk anything. His wisdom was not so obvious then). But more than anything, Gandalf always meant trouble, one way or another. Wherever he went, problems came with him.

Last time he'd been in Erebor, it was when Dis had announced she was pregnant for the first time, eighty years earlier, and Thorin still half suspected that the wizard wasn't entirely innocent in that business. Gandalf wasn't the one who'd gotten Dis with child, but he was the one who calmed down Thrain afterward, reminded him that Gili had a few noble ancestors here and there, and suggested that the dwarf was given some official position where he could prove he more than deserved to marry a princess. (he had also helped resolve a bit of a crisis with the elves, and discouraged an expedition to Khazad Dum, but for some reason Dis's wedding seemed a greater feat to Thorin)

Gandalf certainly enjoyed playing matchmaker, especially if Balin was around to make suggestions.

At least, Thorin was safe from their little games this time. Had the wizard come but a decade earlier, the prince might have asked some help to maker Thrain accept Bofur. Well, he wouldn't have asked as such, but he would have begrudgingly accepted Gandalf's meddling without complaining too much. But now they were both used to the situation, and rather enjoyed this idea that even after all these years, the mere fact that they _lived together_ could piss off Thrain that much.

No, the only one that could ever be a target of Gandalf and Balin's little fames was Frerin, who still remained unmarried and with no known romantic interest of any sort. Though it was agreed that the youngest prince spent more time than was strictly necessary in the Greenwoods. And it was common knowledge that he exchanged many letters with someone that lived out of the mountain, letters written in Sindarin.

So when one day, Thorin saw Gandalf arrive with a party of elves of various ages, he just knew that very soon, Bofur would no longer be his father's worst son-in-law. Which was why he paid no attention whatsoever to what the old wizard was saying, and instead tried to guess which of the tall idiots with pointed ears his brother had set his eyes on. He decided it probably was that tall, dark haired girl (Thorin was almost sure it was a woman), the one who spend most of her time talking with a small, blondish elf child.

Thorin swallowed.

He seriously hoped that child wasn't Frerin's. The shock of it might well kill Thrain, and he didn't feel ready to be king yet. But there was a possible resemblance. The little one had blonde hair (strangely curly hair, like Thorin had never, but the same shade as Frerin), and it was hard to say with the distance, but he seemed older than an elf his height would have been, while still having their stupid pointy ears... Thorin didn't know where the child had obtained those hairy feet, but he had never seen elves without their shoes, maybe they were all like that.

Oh, Thrain would just _love_ that.

* * *

 

To his great regret, Thorin was not able to go straight to his brother to question him about the child. Gandalf's arrival had clearly greatly annoyed Thrain, and the king took his revenge by sending his eldest son to Dale to settle a problem with king Bard, who had dared to create a new tax on the exportation of mithril. It was almost a full month before that was settled. An entire month without seeing Bofur. They hadn't been away for that long in _years_ , and it was pure _torture_.

That was why, after arriving in Erebor, he hadn't gone to tell his father of the relative success of his mission, but had instead gone straight to his apartments. He doubted that Bofur would be there, but waiting for his husband seemed a much nicer prospect that seeing his father and telling him the tax was lowered but not cancelled. Had he been a more reasonable dwarf, things would have gone differently.

For, as he walked toward his chambers, Thorin heard a voice singing, confident but soft and joyful, unlike anything he had heard before. This was neither the voice of a dwarf nor of an elf, it was something entirely new and unique, and it filled Thorin with wonder and, to his shame, desire. It was like the day he had first met Bofur, the same imperious need to know where who was singing (Westron, his brain managed to tell him. Whoever they were, they sang in _Westron_ ). He followed the sound, promising himself he only wanted to have a look, that he had been walking that way to begin with, that this was no betrayal of Bofur, not as long as he only looked, and of course he would only look. He was as good as married. He _loved_ Bofur.

And he wanted whoever was singing like that, as much as he had wanted Bofur that first day.

The song was ending when Thorin arrived to his target, and the singer, who appeared to have been sitting with some dwarves, got on his feet just as the prince was coming nearer.

Thorin looked at him in horror.

It was the elf child that looked so much like Frerin.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bilbo learns that you should never smoke with the wizard, as you might end up having adventures with a suspicious and probably insane old man who thinks it's perfectly fine to have you meet elves and dwarves.

Bilbo Baggins was a very respectable hobbit, thank you very much. He never did anything unexpected, ever.

Of course, there was the fact that at fifty, he was a confirmed bachelor, who had never so much as flirted with a girl in his life, if you listened to gossip. Which good, proper hobbits should never do, in Bilbo's opinion. He had flirted, when he was young and foolish, he had just never pushed things far enough for it to be anything more than a cheerful game for everyone involved. He hadn't been quite as respectable, back then. Ran away from home every other way to go see elves. He even went as far as Bree once, and all on his own too.

But that had been when he was still a tween, and much had happened since. His parents' death, for one thing. That had certainly made him settle down. And, well, age of course. There were some things you just no longer did as you grew older.

He didn't mind. He was respectable now. It was just as good as meeting elves and going to Bree. And he had his books and maps to keep him company. It was all he needed.

Until one fine morning of May, Gandalf came to greet him, and announced that he was taking him to the greatest library of all of Middle-Earth. It had been years, decades since he had last seen the old man, but apparently things like that didn't matter much to wizards.

“Where is that library, exactly?” Bilbo has still asked, always interested by a chance to get a good book.

“In Erebor. It is in the East, far over the Misty Mountains cold, and beyond the Greenwoods. A very pleasant place it is, too. A kingdom of dwarves.”

“How many days from here is it, exactly?”

“No more than a couple months, do not worry. The trip is an easy one most of the time, if we do not have any snow. With some luck, we should arrive before the end of summer.”

“I'm not going,” Bilbo protested. “Me! Going off like this! For months! Oh, no, certainly not. It's not... I'm a Baggins. From Bag-End. I'm respectable, you know. I don't do things like that.

 

* * *

 

Except he did, apparently, because a few days later Gandalf and him were riding side by side. The hobbit still wasn't sure how he ended up agreeing, but he was fairly certain it had something to do with that vile weed that Gandalf had made him smoke. In any case, by the time Bilbo was capable of coherent thought again, it was far too late to go back. They'd gone half of the way toward Rivendell, Gandalf told him.

“As far as I remember, you always had a great admiration for the elves, don't you? Well, if you come with me at least until Rivendell, you will get to meet Lord Elrond himself. He is one of my personal friends, you know.”

Bilbo rather thought that the old man was showing off, and that it was most unbecoming. But he does admire the elves, and so he agrees.

 

Gandalf had more trouble convincing him to go over the Misty Mountains, until one of Elrond's sons suddenly remembered that he had some business to attend in the Greenwoods, and that if they went that way, he would go with them. Bilbo was almost sure that it is all part of the wizard's plan, but he dared not protest. He was more than willing to be manipulated if it allowed him to travel in such nice company.

 

* * *

 

They stayed a week or two with King Thranduil, or maybe more. Bilbo wasn't sure, to be honest, far too busy admiring, well, everything around him. He became friend with a very nice elf maiden, a captain of the guards, who guided him everywhere and answered all his questions, apparently not surprised by his curiosity.

“I am quite used to having small people who are curious about everything they see,” she explained to him one day with a mischievous smile. “Prince Frerin of Erebor is quite fond of our forest, and he often comes to visit it.”

“A prince of Erebor, hm? Is he a dwarf, then? But I thought your people were... that they weren't... well, you know.”

“Oh, the young prince is working _quite_ hard at helping the relations between elves and dwarves. He seeks an alliance most ardently, and I shall soon go to Erebor to help secure such an alliance, if we can manage it. We hope that it might give birth to a new life for elves and dwarves.”

“That is very noble of you!”

Tauriel laughed at that. “Oh, I am always ready to sacrifice myself for my people, and so is prince Frerin.”

Bilbo felt there was a joke there that he didn't quite get. He half suspected that he wasn't supposed to get it, anyway. But Tauriel was nice, though a bit rougher than most other elves he had met at that point, and he was quick to forgive her all her queerness.

* * *

 

In the end, when then left the Greenwoods with Tauriel and a few other elves, Bilbo discovered he had been there for nearly a month. Time certainly went fast when there were so many parties to attend, and such nice elven wine to drink (Gandalf had also tried to offer more of his pipe weed. Bilbo had refused, fearing he'd find himself halfway through Mordor this time)

As they rode toward the Mountain, Bilbo noticed that Tauriel appeared rather nervous, a thing he would never have imagined from her. She assured him it was nothing but the weight of their mission. They were bringing young elves that had been granted a right to become the apprentices of dwarves, and would learn how to make precious objects of gold and silver.

"It's a very important thing, for the relation between our people," she explained. "And sometimes, we take some young dwarves to the Greenwoods, that they may learn to use healing plants, or how to write the many languages of the world. Our races have little in common, and every effort matters in maintaining the peace."

"If it is a normal occurence, what do you fear then?"

"I have news of great importance for prince Frerin, and I know not how he will accept it. Should he be glad to hear them, his father certainly will not be so happy. King Thrain is a stubborn dwarf, and his pride is great. One only has to see how he treats his eldest son's husband to know that."

"His son his married to a man?" Bilbo splurted, shocked by the very idea of it. Tauriel laughed.

"These things happen amongst the dwarves. They happen in all races, to be honest, but the dwarves have accepted it more readily than all others. Are there no men that lie with other men in the Shire?"

"Not that I know of," Bilbo sighed. He frowned. That had certainly sounded a good deal too regretful for his taste. Such things were shameful and bad, he was a respectable hobbit, and there was nothing to regret. "Tell me then, how exactly does the king mistreat his son-in-law?"

"Oh, the list would be long, master Baggins. But then again, many days will pass before we reach Erebor..."

* * *

 

Bilbo wasn't really one for mountains, which were needless tall things full of dangers and fallings rocks, as far as he was concerned. And, as he told Tauriel once, just because hobbits lived in nice little holes didn't mean they appreciated to be burrowed deep underground, so he felt little enthusiasm at the idea of Erebor.

He regretted it once he saw it.

For all that he had heard about dwarves been rough creatures, with no sense of beauty and art, they certainly had built a city that could make even the elves jealous. As far as the eye could see, there was sculpted stone, with delicate and intricate motives that were repeated, always the same and yet always changing, Bilbo constantly discovering new minute variation as he admired it. Maybe dwarves weren't so bad, in the end.

Well, the princes certainly weren't so bad.

At least that was the first thought to enter Bilbo's mind when Gandalf, the elves and him were brought into the court room to meet the king and his heirs. On the left of Thrain, he recognized as prince Frerin, for Tauriel had often talked of him, and had described him very well and in great detail, and the lady by his side was probably princess Dis. Bilbo supposed it was a woman, at least. She wore a dress, and had clear physical signs of feminity, but the beard and moustache did make it a bit difficult to be sure. Which meant the one at the right of the king had to be prince Thorin. Well, he certainly look princely enough, with his long dark hair and eyes, and the way he looked at everything before him as if the elves and the wizard were but a minor inconvenience to him. Which they probably were, as far as he was concerned.

It took Bilbo by surprise when he noticed that the prince's eyes kept coming back to him the entire time they were there. The hobbit wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with that, to be honest. He rather hoped that the prince wouldn't ask who he was. Gandalf and Tauriel had felt that it would be best if Thrain was not informed of his presence there, because, according to them, the king was a frightful bore who would try to make business with the Shire if he ever heard of it. They would introduce him as a hobbit later, and only to people who wouldn't try to use him for diplomacy.

Still, the way prince Thorin looked at him rather worried him, with that slight frown he had, and without thinking about him he stepped closer to Tauriel. Feeling his discomfort, the elf smiled at him, and put her hand on his shoulder. When Bilbo looked again at the prince, Thorin looked like he was trying not to giggle as he kept glancing at the hobbit.

Dwarves certainly were a strange bunch.

* * *

 

They had left the room accompanied by prince Frerin, who had insisted to be the one to bring the elf children to their new masters, and Tauriel had very graciously accepted his help. Though, to be quite honest, in the end it was Gandalf who guided them through the mountain, because Frerin and Tauriel were far too busy talking to watch were they were going. They seemed awfully close, those two. Not that Bilbo was judging them, or accusing them of anything, for that matter. But there was something a bit queer about a relation between two different races, that was all. It would never have been allowed in the Shire, that much was certain.

After they had delivered the children to their new masters, Frerin finally managed to notice Bilbo, and discovered that he was not only of a new race, but also coming from a far away place just to visit their library (Gandalf never mentioned the role of his pipe weed, for some reason). The prince assaulted him with questions about the Shire, and the strange custom of the hobbits.

“You never wear shoes, then?”

“Well, sometimes, in winter, if it snows, we might wear boots. But that's... rather uncomfortable to be honest, and we'd rather stay inside until the weather improves, if that's an option.”

“Fascinating. I would never have imagined! And what trade do your people specialize in, then? Dwarves creates beautiful objects, elves... _are_ beautiful, I suppose, which is better than nothing” that earned him a small slap on the back of his head from Tauriel, but she was smiling. “And of course humans breed. A lot. But what do hobbits do?”

The question took Bilbo by surprise. As far as he was concerned, hobbits specialized in being hobbits, and that was already a lot of work, really. But he wasn't sure the others would be too impressed by such an answer.

“Well, we grow plants, of course,” he said after a while, “and we have parties. And, hm... oh, we're quite good with wood, of course. Well, we use it a lot at least, and we even sell it to Big People sometimes, though we rarely see the point. It's not much fun, making things so big. Only some Tooks do it.”

“Then you people are like Bofur!” Frerin exclaimed. “That decides it, then. You have to meet him. I am sure you two will get along wonderfully. He works with wood too, but no one else does here, and I'm sure it must feel lonely at time, not having anyone who understand your craft. I'm sure he'll just love you!”

“A dwarf working with wood? That's... unusual...”

“No more than a hobbit crossing half of Middle-Earth,” Gandalf mentioned with a smirk, to with Bilbo answered with a look that meant _Are you sure you want to talk about the reason I'm here, Gandalf, because it will ruin your reputation with these people, and if you joke about it one more time I'm make sure there isn't a single person in the world who doesn't know you drug people to take them on adventures_.

Gandalf just kept smiling, as if he hadn't understood the warning, but Bilbo was sure he was just playing dumb.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo hadn't expected to really, actually meet prince Thorin's husband. He had honestly believed that Frerin had suggested that out of sheer politeness or, more probably, to show off in front of Tauriel and prove that he was nice to her friends (Bilbo was almost sure there was some sort of flirting going on between these two, or that it would soon happen anyway). And for two days, indeed, the hobbit had just spent his time in the royal library, in the company of a charming young lad called Ori who was unbelievably happy to be able to share his love of books with someone.

“They don't read much here,” the young dwarf had sighed. “My brothers say that the thing we make tell enough stories as it is, and that all we need is our craft, our songs, and our language. But I don't agree, books are important.”

“Why do you have a library if dwarves don't read?”

“Oh, most of it is treaties, really. Treaties and gifts of course. The elves know we don't care much for books, so king Thranduil makes sure to give us many, as often as he can. That's elves for you, really.”

They had chatted for a while after that, of the many faults of the different races, trying to find out which one was worse (they eventually agreed on wizards, which got them a nasty look from Gandalf).

But on the third day, just as Bilbo had arrived in the library, Frerin and Tauriel had come to fetch him.

“My brother has been gone for two days,” the prince explained, “and Bofur is still waiting for the wood he's ordered to arrive from Dale, so he doesn't have much to do. It's the perfect moment to introduce you to him, and if you're lucky, he might even agree to carve you something!”

“I wouldn't want to impose myself,” Bilbo protested, though he mostly didn't want to leave the book of rules of elvish poetry he had just found.

“Do not be silly, Mr Baggins, you won't be imposing anything! He'll be quite happy to meet you, I'm sure of it. And father has been rather... well, he's been in a dreadful mood lately, so any distraction will be welcomed for Bofur.”

Bilbo had cast a longing look toward his book. It would have to wait, then. It simply wasn't done to refuse a request from your host, especially not when said host was a prince.

In the end, he did not regret it.

Bilbo wasn't sure what he had expected from the not-quite-husband of the heir to the throne, but certainly such a person would have been delicate and beautiful enough to have tempted a prince to forget his position and risk a king's anger. Instead, Bofur looked like an average dwarf, the only difference between him and everyone that Bilbo had met so far being the quality of his clothes (and even that, the hobbit suspected, was just because they were visiting him). Somehow, it made him a lot more interesting to Bilbo than if he had been some pretty and seductive thing. How had someone so blatantly ordinary managed to seduce a future king?

And, certainly, Bofur was a nice enough fellow, with a great sense of humour and a nice conversation. Bilbo himself might have liked him a lot, if he had been inclined toward men (which he wasn't) or dwarves (which he wasn't either), but he wasn't a prince. There was a mystery there that needed to be solved.

“What kind of dwarf is prince Thorin then?” the hobbit asked in what he hoped to be an innocent manner. “I've only caught a glimpse of him the other day, not enough to get an idea of the sort of person he is... though he seemed rather amused by me, for some reason.”

“Thorin's not one to laugh easily,” Bofur answered with some surprise. “Maybe it was yer big hairy feet that did it. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but that's not something he'd have seen before, eh? Dwarves just don't walk around showing bits of their legs like that. Only person who should see yer naked bits like that is yer intended.”

“Well, it's a perfectly proper thing to do for a hobbit!”

“Oh, I don't doubt it. And I don't mind. Ye got yerself some nice little legs here,” Bofur said with a wink. “Thorin might have noticed that. He got an eye for nice things, as my being in his chambers proves.”

Bofur grinned as he said it, and Bilbo grinned back. “Yes, I can tell that he has good taste, if nothing else.”

“Oh, but he's got many other qualities,” Frerin protested, having missed the mischievous tone of the other two. “My brother is very wise, and kind, and there's nothing he wouldn't do for the good of Erebor!”

“Nothing except get married to one of Dain's sisters,” Bofur mentioned. “Well, can't blame him. I've met them once, they weren't very friendly girls. But Frerin's right, Thorin's a nice one, if a little proud at times. But that's royalty for ye, of course.”

“I'm not proud!” Frerin exclaimed, the very image of indignation.

“He's not proud,” Tauriel confirmed. “That's the problem, really.”

“Dis and Thorin stole of the pride there was to be had in the family,” Bofur explained, looking extremely serious. “It happens, in some families. The eldest get all of one trait, and then there's nothing left for the young ones. Dreadful state of things, that. Good thing ye're not likely to be king, Frerin. Can't have someone on the throne who doesn't think he's the best thing to have happened to our race since the day we found mithril.”

“I'll tell Thorin you said that, you know.”

“Ye tell him anything ye want, it's nothing he hasn't heard before. With royalty, ye've got to tell them as it is,” he told Bilbo with another wink. “Otherwise they think they're ruling ye or something.”

Bilbo certainly didn't giggle at that, even if he rather liked Bofur's humour. Well, to be honest, he rather liked Bofur, more generally. He was just one of those persons you couldn't help liking, a bit like Bilbo's own mother had been, with the one difference that Bilbo had never had any impulse to kiss _her_ on the mouth when she'd make a joke just to have him laugh.

And that was when Bilbo realized that he might be in trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo might be in love, but he knows he hasn't got a chance, and he's okay with that, he really is.

Bilbo spent most of the following weeks in the company of Bofur, and he had a lovely time, to be quite honest. The unofficial seemed quite glad to have some company, and he had decided to have the hobbit visit the entire kingdom, instead of staying in the library as he had done until then.

 

“I don't mean offence to Ori, he's a good lad, but that library is _crap_ ,” Bofur explained. “Nothing interesting in there, it's all just dusty books and boring parchments. What ye need to see is the people, the forges, the mines. Ever seen a sword in the making? Now that's a sight! And the mines, the go deep below, like nothing ye've ever seen! Ye don't come to Erebor for books, mister Baggins. Ye come to Erebor for the dwarves!”

 

Bilbo had to agree with that. His favourite sight certainly was the dwarves. Well, one of them in particular. He had felt bad about it at first, because this was anything but respectable, and Bofur was virtually married, and to a prince no less. Having a crush on him was a terrible idea, and really, Bilbo was far too old to have crushes on anyone. But after a few days, he had managed to convince himself that there was nothing wrong in just looking.

 

And Bofur was just so friendly, and always willing to make time for him, to show him his favourite places in the kingdom. He had even introduced Bilbo to his friends, though in the end, that mostly meant his family and prince Thorin's. That made the hobbit rather sad, to be honest. Even he, who wasn't the most popular hobbit in town (he was a bit of a bore, apparently, with his books and his maps) had at least a dozen people he'd call his friends, and _that_ was without counting all his Took and Baggins cousins. Maybe that was why Bofur was so nice to him. Maybe he just needed company.

 

So Bilbo did his best to provide this company. It wasn't in his nature to be very sociable, and most of the time he would have been perfectly happy in the library with a cup of tea and a nice book. But he made an effort, and tried to show interest in everything that Bofur suggested they did. It was almost charity, really. Charity with a brilliant smile and strong hands and a beautiful voice and a very, _very_ nice bottom, by the look of it. Not that Bilbo was looking. Much.

 

At least, he was discreet about it, and no one had noticed.

 

No one but the Lady Dis.

 

They were all visiting one of the mines together, the entire royal family, minus prince Thorin and King Thrain. The young prince Kili and Fili were chatting merrily with Bofur, young Ori (who had been invited to join them) and Dwalin (who was Fili's bodyguard, as far as Bilbo understood), Frerin and Tauriel were having a heated debate about the aesthetically values of stone against wood (Tauriel was winning. Tauriel always won) which meant that Bilbo was left to talk with Dis. He didn't mind as such, since she didn't say much at first, simply leaving him to admire the wonderful sight. And he even looked at the mines too, sometimes.

 

“You do know that he's spoken for?” Dis asked him after a moment, startling him.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Bofur. He is all but married to my brother. The bond may not be legal yet, but it exists nonetheless. You are not the first one to find my brother-in-law to your taste, and I guarantee you that it never ends well for those who think that he's free. I may wear a dress, master Baggins, but I know more ways to kill someone that you ever will.”

 

“Well, if that's all the trust you have in Bofur, I feel hurt on his behalf,” the hobbit retorted. “I... I guess there's no point in denying that I rather like him, but all I'm doing is watching, you know, and I' wouldn't do more. I'm a hobbit. We have such a thing as _morals_ , for your information, and any idiot could see that Bofur only wants his husband. Speaks of your brother half of the time.”

 

“And the other half?”

 

“He makes terrible jokes that shouldn't be funny, but I still laugh. Look, my Lady, if this... if this is a problem in any way, then I will leave Bofur in peace, find myself another guide to Erebor...”

 

“But?”

 

Bilbo hesitated, and looked at Bofur, who was laughing with Kili. He sighed.

 

“But nothing, my Lady. I would not have him and his reputation be put in doubt because of me. If you think it is for the best, then I will leave him alone.”

 

“Oh dear,” Dis said with a grin. “You are just as dramatic as Thorin, aren't you? Maybe even worse. I'm not asking you to abandon him, little one. I just wanted things to be clear between us. You... you are good for Bofur, you know. This year has been a hard one for him, and I'm glad that he's making a friend, someone who isn't part of the family.”

 

Bilbo did his best to smile. Being a friend was good. He could live with that. He had to live with that. Because there was no way for Bofur to ever see him as more. And Dis had seemed awfully serious when she'd said she knew how to kill people.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, do hobbits sing, or are ye as awful at it as elves?” Bofur asked one afternoon, ignoring Tauriel's glare.

 

It had been a quiet day. They had learned that prince Thorin would be back very soon, and Bofur had become reluctant to leave their apartments for too long. After a long month without his husband, he would not risk missing a single minute with him once he returned, not even to please Bilbo. And Dis worried that someone might seduce her brother-in-law! Bilbo wasn't sure he'd ever seen someone so in love, not since his parents' death.

 

And since Bofur was waiting for his husband, they all waited with him, having an improvised little picnic in a corridor (Kili's idea, 'to make sure uncle can't fail to find us' he had said. The others had laughed, though Bilbo wasn't sure why). The food had been nice, the ale nicer, and the dwarves had started singing a few songs. That was fairly usual for them. Dwarves loved to sing almost as much as elves, or at least that particular bunch did. But it was the first time anyone seemed to want Bilbo to join them.

 

“Hobbits as a rule sing, yes,” he explained. “But this particular hobbit doesn't. I haven't got much of a voice, sadly, though I love a good song as much as anyone.”

 

“Ye can't be worse than Kili,” Bofur assured him. “Lad has a voice that turns wine to vinegar. Sorry, laddie, but it's true, and ye know it.”

 

Kili shrugged his shoulders. The fact that he wasn't even trying to defend himself spoke of how terrible a singer he must be, Bilbo thought. Kili was usually more the sort to take such jokes as challenges.

 

“Come on mister Baggins, sing us something,” Bofur requested. “A little tune from yer country, or an elf song, if that's more to yer taste. I jest a lot, but I rather like the tall one's melodies, even if the lyrics are far too sad, if ye want my opinion. Sing us something merry!”

 

“I don't... I'm not sure any song I know is fit for such a place... There's one that's nice enough, but you might find it a bit sad, so I'd rather not...”

 

“Come now, mister Baggins, I insist. I'm sure we all want to hear yer hobbit song, don't we?”

 

The other all approved of the idea, and in the end Bilbo had no choice but to do as he was told. Encouraged by everyone, he got up, took a deep breath to calm himself, and started singing.

 

“ _Home is behind, the world ahead  
And there are many paths to tread”_  


 

They all looked at him, their smile suddenly frozen. Bofur looked at him with round eyes, but Bilbo decided to ignore it and sing until the end, no matter how dreadful he was.

  
_“Through shadow, to the edge of night_  
Until the stars are all alight  
Mist and shadow  
Cloud and shade  
Alll shall Fade  
All shall fade”  


 

 

 

Bilbo stopped, his cheeks red in embarrassment. It had been quite a while since he had last sung anything. He had stopped after his parents' death, mostly because he no longer had any occasion to do it, as with many other things.

 

The silence of the little group didn't help, of course. They were all looking at him as if he were some sort of... well, they didn't seem too horrified by his voice, actually, but their reaction still seemed rather strong, in his opinion.

 

“That was lovely,” Bofur eventually whispered reverently. “And if ye're not one of the best hobbits at it, then yer kind must have voices to make the Valar die from envy.”

 

“Oh. Oh, you don't have to pretend, I know I'm not...”

 

“ _Uncle Thorin!”_

 

After the quiet song, Kili's delighted cry had them all jump. Bilbo turned, and his eyes fell on the heir apparent. Thorin was tall and regal and dark, the very image of all the great dwarf princes in Bilbo's books, and there he was, glaring at the hobbit as if his mere existence were a personal insult. Bilbo wasn't sure what he had done to deserve such dislike, except maybe being present at what the prince must have expected to be a private moment.

But the prince's mood was soon greatly improved when Bofur all but jumped into his arms, like a tween in love for the first time. Thorin's frown immediatly disappeared, replace by a large smile as he held his husband tight. When Bofur pulled back, the open love in his eyes made Bilbo's stomach clench painfully. He thought for a moment that the two dwarves would kiss, but instead the prince bent until their forehead touched and they both sighed happily. Somehow, it seemed more intimate than if they had indeed kissed, and Bilbo turned away. It did not feel right to intrude on that moment, and indeed, the rest of their little group was packing away their picnic and preparig to leave.

"Come, little one," Tauriel said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I doubt Bofur will be able to show you more of Erebor now, but Frerin and I can. I know we won't be to you what he is, but we'll do our best to entertain you all the same."

Bilbo nodded, and followed the elf, away from the dwarf he was trying to not love and his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a problem with this fic, and it's the fact that Thorin and Bofur are cute together and I'm not sure anymore how I'll manage to make Bilbo fit in with them. D: Bilbo isn't a home wrecker, Thorin is too noble to act on his attraction (... I think?) and Bofur just isn't that sort of dwarf
> 
> Ah, well. We'll see.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is attracted to anybody, except for Frerin who wants to marry but has a terrible timing

"If that's how ye react after, I might have to ask Thrain to send you 'way for long more often. That’s the roughest ye've been in twenty years, love. Not that I'm complaining."

Thorin grunted, too warm and sated to answer. He always needed the intimacy after being away from Bofur, but that horrible moment, with the haunting voice of that strangle elfling had made it a necessity. This was what he needed, what he wanted. This and nothing more.

"I've missed you," he mumbled, lazily kissing his husband's collarbone. "Next time I'm taking you with me."

"Ye say that every time."

"Mean it this time. Keeping you with me. Need something cuddly with me to relieve the stress."

"'S that all the use I have then?" Bofur chuckled. “Feeling _used_ here. Wait ‘til I tell Frerin ye’re just wanting me for cuddles, ye’ll see.”

“My brother must have enough problems of his own,” Thorin replied, tensing. “I doubt he will have much time for mine, not with the… child.”

“How d’ye know ‘bout the child? Tauriel hasn’t told anyone yet, not even Frerin!”

“Well, it is rather… obvious, is it not? My brother might be an imbecile, but I have eyes and I’m using them.”

“Now ye’re being mean,” Bofur laughed, kissing his forehead. “It’s not showing yet, and it won’t show b’fore a couple month. Don’t know how _Dis_ knows, but she’s just as bad as that Gandalf fellow when it comes to knows thing she shouldn’t, so I trust her.”

Thorin froze, and tried hard to understand what his husband was saying. None of it made sense.

“What do you mean, it’s not showing? The child was right _there_!”

It was Bofur’s turn to frown.

“No it wasn’t? Well, it was in a way, that’s the point of being pregnant, but it wasn’t, ye know, _actually_ there.”

“Pregnant? She’s just pregnant? But who was the blond little elfling singing earlier?”

Bofur kept silent for a few seconds, and then burst out laughing.

“Ye thought _Bilbo_ was their child? Mahal above, I’ll have to tell him, he’s gonna love it. Him! Yer brother’s babe! Ah, Tauriel and him will have a good laugh with that one!”

Thorin took a deep breath. The blond child wasn’t his nephew, then. That was good news. The situation was bad enough without having to be attracted to someone who was of his own blood. Not that he was attracted. He loved Bofur. He needed no one else.

“Who was the child, then?”

“He’s not child at all!” Bofur sniggered. “He’ll be quite cross that you think him so, poor little fellow. He’s a hobbit. They are people from the West, apparently. And he’s an adult, by his people’s standards. Gandalf told me if he were a dwarf, he’d be about my age, so don’t ye go calling him a child.”

“Hobbit? You mean a Halfling? I thought they were just a fairy tale for children.”

“Yeah, Kili’s still trying to find his pot of gold. I love yer nephew, Thorin, but he’s none too bright sometimes. Though they seem to have a rather nice life, those little hobbits. Nothing to do but eat and have parties and smoke and then eat again. D’ye know Bilbo had never even had a weapon in his entire life? Dwalin and Fili are trying to teach him how to use a sword at least. They say it’s shameful, a man who can’t fight. He grumbles a lot, but I think he’s having fun with them.”

Thorin pulled back a little, and looked at his husband’s smile. “You are… fond of the creature, aren’t you?”

The idea worried him, for some reason, but Bofur seemed perfectly innocent and peaceful as he nodded.

“He’s a nice one. Didn’t have much to do while ye were gone, couldn’t work on anything ‘cause the wood I’d ordered was delayed, and he kept me company. It took him around for a tour of the kingdom, he was very curious and asked plenty of questions. It was nice. He’s nice. I think you’ll like him.”

Thorin nodded. Oh, he would probably like the small creature. That was the entire problem.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo Baggins was not terrified of prince Thorin.

Mostly because _terrified_ would have been the understatement of the century.

If the hobbit had been worried by the way the prince had looked at him the way he had come back to Erebor, that was nothing compared to the way he constantly glared at him whenever their paths met.

And said paths met often enough, since Bofur, after a day or two spent only in the company of his husband, had decided to resume their visits of Erebor, this time dragging Thorin along whenever the prince had time.

Bilbo wasn’t sure why they did it. It was painfully obvious to everyone involved that Thorin hated him, and though he felt a certain admiration for the prince after all he had heard about him, he still didn’t _like_ him much. For one thing, it was hard to like someone who constantly looked like they wanted to murder you for no other crime than having being born. And yet Bofur saw nothing, and still took every possible occasion to go visit this or that with his dwarf and his hobbit.

“I believe he only wants the two of you to get along,” Gandalf told him when Bilbo complained of the situation. “Thorin is his husband after all. But I believe master Bofur has grown quite attached to you over the last few weeks, and it would certainly mean a lot to him to have his lover and his friend be in good terms. I know that Thorin isn’t always easy to deal with, but I am sure that Bofur would appreciate it if he saw you make efforts.”

Bilbo mentally cursed the wizard for using what he knew to be his weak point (there were few things he wouldn’t do to please Bofur) and himself for having taken the old man’s advice in the first place, when he knew him to be anything but trustworthy.

The worst of it, of course, was that Gandalf was probably right. Damn him, and damn Thorin, and damn everything ever.

So Bilbo tried to make an effort. He smiled a lot at the prince, which seemed to anger him even more. He made them madeleines, following a recipe from his mother (according to familial lore, those were the cakes that had achieved to seduce Bungo Baggins), and Thorin glared at them as if they had insulted his ancestors (but Bilbo noticed with no small amount of pride that the prince ate most of them, and promised himself he would make more of those). He asked questions about how things worked in Erebor and explained how things were done differently in the Shire, and this the prince seemed to have an interest in, though he remained just as cold and distant as ever.

But Bilbo had tried, and therefore no one could criticize him, he decided. Not when Bofur had clearly noticed him and smiled just so whenever he saw the hobbit making an effort.

 

* * *

 

It was going to be yet another boring council, and Thorin thought it best to stop listening after a few minutes of old Fundin describing the situation on the Northern border. Sadly, not paying attention meant day-dreaming, and that usually meant thinking about the hobbit.

Thorin had had some hope at first. Hope that he could avoid the creature. Then, as it became clear that Bofur treasured the friendship and wanted them to get along, the prince hoped that pulling his best imitation of his father to drive the creature away. And all that had achieved was that the hobbit had been lovely. A true walking temptation. Smiling, cooking, taking an interest in the kingdom. Thorin had managed to prevent him from singing again, but he knew it was only a question of time.

And Bofur who thought he was jealous. _Ah_! He trusted Bofur's feelings more than his own at that point, not that he could tell him that, of course.

He'd have to do something about this situation, and he'd have to do it soon. Maybe he could get Dis to help with it, somehow. If he hinted that he wanted the hobbit gone from their lives, she would...

“I've got an announcement to make,” Frerin said, standing up, forcing Thorin to pay attention once more. “I know that some members of this council worry over the fact that I am not yet married. I am pleased to tell you that this shall soon no longer be the case. I have found someone I love, and that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Is it a woman?” Thrain asked in a tone that hinted that he'd had enough members of his family marrying men, and that he would not tolerate it again.

“Oh, yes. Of course she's a woman. She's so much of a woman that she's carrying my child. That's why we're hoping to rush the wedding a little, you see. We don't want the baby to be born out of wedlock.”

“She's _what_?” one of Thrain's counsellors asked. “My prince, surely you must be joking! I'd have thought you would have learned from your sister's mistakes!”

That earned the dwarf a dark look from Dis, and Thorin was sure that one wouldn't stay in the council for long. But the heir apparent forced himself to keep as neutral a face as possible. Frerin was going about this the worst possible way, and he wasn't sure if he should have been amused or worried for his brother.

“Who's the infortunate lady then?” Thrain asked in a cold voice. “Please, do tell me you've not fallen for a commoner. I think we can all agree we've had enough of _those_ in the family.”

“She's... noble, for a given value of the word. She's cousin with a prince, you see, but it's a little different for her people of course.”

“Her people?”

“Yes. She's. Well. She's an _elf_ , you see.”

The effect of that sentence was immediate. The entire council gasped in horror, save for Dis and Thorin who threw a worried look toward their father. Thrain had gone pale as a chalk, and his eyes were wide open in shock. Dis glanced at her elder brother who nodded, and she ran to her father's side, putting a hand on his shoulder. That seemed to bring the king back to his senses, and he violently pushed her away.

“Do not touch me!” the yelled. “This is your fault, this is all your fault! If you hadn't married that servant, your brothers would have never had the idea of behaving so shamefully! Wasn't it bad enough that you'd helped Thorin get his whore, now Frerin has to be the laughing stock of the entire kingdom?”

“Dis has nothing to do with this!” Frerin protested with a weak voice. “I'm an adult, and I can make my own choices. I love Tauriel, and...”

“Tauriel? You want to marry _Tauriel_? One of _Thranduil's_ kin?”

“There's nothing wrong about Thranduil,” Thorin said, and he noted some of the council members nodding in agreement. “Our people have been in peace for centuries, he's never been anything but friendly, though I'm sure you'll anger him greatly if you refuse the match.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” Thrain snapped. “In fact, you are excused from this council. Take your sister and leave. We have no further need of you for today.”

“Father...”

“I gave you an order, Thorin. I'd advise you to _obey_ for once.”

The prince exchanged another look with his sister. Dis was as worried as him, and they were both prepared to protect their brother in any possible way, but before they could say anything, Frerin put a hand on Thorin's shoulder.

“Do as father say. This... this is my doing, my responsibility, and I can handle this. There is no need for anyone else to get involved.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know father will never take a decision that isn't good for me and for Erebor,” Frerin claimed so confidently that his brother almost believed him. “But it shows your great affection for me that you worry so much about me, and I appreciate your concern.”

Thorin understood the message. Any more defensiveness on his and Dis's parts, and it would look like they were openly distrusting the king, something that Thrain would not, could not tolerate in front of the council. Thorin bowed to his father, as did his sister, and they left without another word.

* * *

 

“Do you think father will disown him, exile him?” Thorin asked.

“If he'd been shagging any other elf, I'd say yes,” Dis sighed. “But he can't afford to do that with Tauriel involved. She's Thranduil's kin, one of the most trusted members of his guard, a personal friend to prince Legolas... If father refuses to accept her in the family, he'll give great insult to the elves, and he knows it. But Frerin was stupid to say that in council.”

“It wasn't your plan, then?”

“Of course it wasn't. My plans are masterpieces, moments of pure art. _This_ was what happens when a kind-hearted idiot thinks he has a brilliant idea. Oh, we'll have half the council against us now! Egill and Grettir and Gloin looked like they were having an attack, they'll cause all sorts of problems!”

“We can deal with Gloin,” Thorin assured her. “He doesn't like elves, but he likes us well enough. His son was all but raised with yours after all. And Egill will get over it, he's faithful to the throne and would never dare to take action against us. I'm more worried about Snorri, he looked a little too accepting and happy with this situation. I've never liked him much, and I have a bad feeling about his... support.”

“You're starting to sound like father.”

“Don't insult me, Dis. It's not the day for it.”

Dis did not answer. They both stared at the door of the council chamber, anxiously waiting for something, anything to happen. The lack of noise was highly disturbing. Their father wasn't normally one for quiet burst of anger. He would scream and yell and insult everyone's ancestry if he could. That silence wasn't normal. It wasn't right.

At last, after what felt like hours, the door opened, and Frerin came out, pale but unharmed. He refused to talk to them there, though, and insisted to go somewhere private and since his apartments were the closest, and Tauriel was gone with Bilbo and Bofur, they went there.

“How did it go, then?” Thorin asked as soon as the door closed behind them. “What will they do?”

“I will marry Tauriel in two months. Father is furious, he had... started negotiations to have me marry one of Dain's daughters, and now it's all for naught. But Snorri managed to convince him that an alliance with the Greenwoods was just as good, and Ulfr said we could always try to use Kili of Fili to have a link with the Iron Mountains. It's... I think it all went fairly well, it really did.”

“I don't trust Snorri,” Thorin grumbled, “and Ulfr's mother must have fucked an orc when she was young. They're hiding something.”

“You're sounding like father again,” Dis replied coldly. “Ulfr isn't the nicest dwarf around, but he's nothing but fair, everyone knows that. I'm glad we have him on our side, and Snorri too. You'll need all the support you can get, Frerin, and trust me, you're _not_ going to get a lot of it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you've got a chapter that just doesn't want to be writen. This was such a chapter. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but hey! Plot! Things are happening!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili is great at being a prince, Bilbo makes a difficult decision (several ones, actually) and not all dwarves are honest.

The announcement of prince Frerin’s betrothal to Taurial was a great shock to everyone in Erebor and around. Bilbo felt particularly silly to not have seen it coming. The signs had been so obvious, really. But more than anything, he was happy for his friend, and wished her all the happiness in the world, certain that she deserved it.

At her request, he was constantly at her side now, acting like a chaperon of sorts, so that she may never be alone with prince Frerin. Why anyone cared for propriety when Tauriel was already pregnant anyway, the hobbit couldn’t understand it, but he had long ago given up on dwarves making any sense. He was glad to be of help, and glad to have an excuse to spend less time with Bofur and Thorin. As far as he was concerned, everything was going perfectly well.

Others were of a different mind.

 

* * *

 

Thorin, for one, was constantly amazed by the way the situation kept getting _worse_.

It was all Thrain's fault, of course. It was always Thrain's fault.

And certainly, Frerin's idea to get an elf pregnant hadn't been a particularly brilliant one, but he was Frerin after all. Things like that were to be expected from him.

But it was Thrain who had decided to talk to Dain from the Iron Hills about marrying one of his daughters to Frerin, without consulting the prince, nor anyone else in the family. And it was Thrain again who announced that, since he had almost concluded the arrangement for the betrothal but was short of one fiancé, Frerin would be replaced by Fili in the upcoming wedding.

Dis wasn't pleased at the idea.

Fili even less so.

“I am not asking your opinion, child,” Thrain coldly told him at the improvised family council he had called. “I'm telling thing as they will be.”

“And I'm advising you to look for a new plan, because this one will not work out,” the prince replied with a polite smile.

“You don't understand politics, child, and...”

“I understand it very well, my king. Better than you think. We do not need that alliance. Our relations to the Iron Hills are excellent. If you were to marry me for power or business, you would send me away in the South, because that is where our current interest lies. But instead, you want me to bed my cousin, just so the line of Durin continues as pure as it can be. I refuse this.”

Thorin tried hard to hide a pleased smile. Dis made no such efforts to hide her pride. She had raised her sons well enough, he had to admit it.

“As I've said, I do not care for you opinion of this matter,” Thrain declared. “I am the head of this family, and your king, you will do as I tell you, or face the consequences of your rebellion.”

“Then face them I will, my king. You can disown me if you wish. I don't mind becoming a soldier, or a smith, I'm good enough at both trades to live from it. You can exile me from Erebor, and I'll go to Dale, or in the South, I can live like that. But you won't force me into a match I do not wish.”

The king glared at his grand-son then, but Fili did not flinch and stared right back at him, just as stubborn as the rest of his family, if less angry than the others. The combination of Dis's determination and Gili's calm and patience had given them a prince that would one day make a great king, in Thorin's opinion. If the current ruler didn't mess up as he always seemed to do when it came to his family, of course.

“Fine, you will not marry Kir,” Thrain sighed. “But Kili...”

“Kili will not marry her either,” Fili cut him, while the younger prince sent his brother a pleading look. “We are not yours to dispose of at your will. I have no intention of marrying at present, precisely because, _unlike some of my elders_ , I realize I have some duty to this kingdom.” Thorin glared at his nephew then, as did Dis. “If I ever take a consort, it will be for the sake of Erebor, but it will be my decision, not yours. As for Kili... I am remaining unwed so that _he_ may be with whoever he chooses. As you see, neither our fates are in your hands, my king.”

“Lord Dain...”

“Will get over it. Send him someone to tell him that your entire family is made up of idiots who can't keep their tools in their breeches. Everyone knows his eldest girl ran off with a skald, he'll be happy to know you have it worse.”

“The lords want this match, though.”

“Then it is happy that you are king, and not them,” Fili answered with bow and a polite smile.

Even Thrain was fighting not to smile then. Fili had won, and Thorin was impressed by how well his nephew had handle the situation. The young prince had certainly learned from all their mistakes, and as for the king, maybe he finally...

“Very well, Thorin will go to the Iron Hills explain our cousin why is youngest daughter will still not get married,” Thrain announced. “After all, he's the _first one_ to have refused her.”

“ _You're_ the one who decided she'd have to get married to one of us, father, shouldn't _you_ be the one taking care of this?”

“And _you're_ the one who went and ruined my plans by virtually eloping with a wood-carver. If you can't marry like a prince, you will at least act like one, for once.”

Thorin glared at his father. “If I go, then Bofur is coming with me.”

“No, he's not.”

“Then I'm not going either. It's the two of us, or nothing.”

Thrain scowled at his eldest son, and open his mouth to say what he though of Thorin's ultimatums, but Dis quickly intervened.

“The idea is not such a bad one, father,” she claimed. “Cousin Dain is rather fond of Bofur. His father-in-law was a miner too after all. And things are at a point where everyone is wondering why we're not involving Bofur more in the life of the country. Having him go on a diplomatic mission will be a great proof that we are all a big, loving, united family, ready to stand together for the good of Erebor!”

“He's _not_ part of the family.”

“I know that,” Dis assured her father. “You know that. _He_ knows that. But the people don't know that, and you probably don't want them to learn it, or you'd have made official announcements. So think of it that way. This could mean a few weeks without Thorin or Bofur to disturb your peace of mind, and isn't that what _everyone_ wants?”

Thrain appeared to consider the idea, and Thorin felt offended. He knew that he wasn't always easy to live with, but Bofur was a delightful dwarf, and how anyone could ever want to get away from him was something he couldn't understand.

“Very well,” the king said at last. “Take your whore with you to the Iron Hills, I don't care. In fact, do me a favour and stay there for a few months”

“As you wish, father.”

Thorin tried not to look too pleased. A vacation in the Iron Hills with his husband, away from his father, the halfling, and all his trouble. Things couldn't have been better.

 

* * *

 

Things couldn't have been worse.

Bilbo was devastated.

Bofur was going away. With his husband. For _months_. And Bilbo wasn't allowed to be jealous, because he wasn't supposed to be in love, and he couldn't be angry either, not when the dwarf seemed so _happy_ at the prospect.

“Dain's a nice dwarf,” Bofur told him. “And it's the first time Thrain agrees to let Thorin take me with him. I haven't been outside of Erebor since I've finished my apprenticeship. And that was _decades_ ago.”

“That seems... cruel.”

“Well, he's never been too happy to have me in the family, can't blame him for that, can I?” the dwarf laughed. “But that's a good sign. He's starting to change his mind. I'm slightly less bad than an elf, I s'ppose. Not that Tauriel isn't a lovely lass, but ye can imagine Thrain isn't too much for interracial weddings.”

“I hope you'll have a nice time then,” Bilbo said miserably.

“Don't worry, ye'll have have everyone else to keep ye company! Heard the young princes like you terribly, and Gili likes having someone less... _Durin_ to talk to. Ye won't even notice I'm gone, ye'll see.”

The hobbit smiled weakly, but did not trust himself to answer.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo didn't go to dinner that night. He asked Ori to tell everyone that he wasn't feeling too well, and that he needed fresh air more than he needed food. In the Shire, everyone would have known that he had to be in a terrible state to do something as drastic as to skip a meal. But he was in Erebor now. Ori just advised him to have a good night of sleep, and went away. And that was all.

A little disappointed that no one seemed to care that he was heart-broken, Bilbo went to one of the many balconies of the mountain to enjoy to cold night air. He didn't know what to do. He liked Erebor well enough, but if he had to be very honest, what he liked best about the mountain was Bofur, and with him gone, he wasn't sure he had any reason to stay. Certainly, there was everyone else, and he liked them well enough, and the library was fantastic, but he wasn't sure it was enough. Maybe the time to go back home had come at last.

“They say a hobbit who misses a meal is either dead or dying.”

Bilbo jumped and turned quickly. Gandalf was there, a small basket in his hand and a kind smile on his face.

“I hope, in your case, the old saying is wrong, my dear friend,” the wizard said. “Still, I would feel a lot better if you would eat something. Then you'll tell me why you've been in such a terrible mood all day.”

“I'm not in a bad mood!” Bilbo protested, grabbing some chicken and biting into it.

“I didn't say bad, I said terrible. Am I wrong in supposing it had to do with Thorin and Bofur's upcoming travel to the Iron Hills?”

“I don't know why you bother with asking, I'm sure you already know everything. Everyone knows, really.”

“Dis and Tauriel aren't everyone, and they would never betray your... secret. As for me, I know something is wrong, and I have strong suspicions, but I would not dare to presume of anything. If you trust me enough, though...”

Bilbo sniggered. “Last time I trusted you, I ended up travelling across Middle-Earth.”

“And do you regret it?”

The hobbit thought about it for a moment. “I honestly don't know,” he admitted. “I was safe in the Shire. And I was happy, and I didn't have to worry about having my heart broken by stupid dwarves who are far too _nice_ to everyone and don't know the effect they have on people. But at the same time...”

“Yes?”

“I don't think I've ever been as close to people in the Shire as I am to those I've met here. I was a little lonely, come to think of it. It'll be hard, going back there.”

“Then you could stay here. Home is where the heart is, as men say.”

Bilbo gave him a sad smile. “Except my heart is no longer mine, and my love can never be returned, Gandalf. I... I've seen Bofur with his husband, and... well, he's always a merry dwarf of course, but when Thorin is around, it's like he starts _glowing_ because he's so happy. I... I can't compete with that, and I don't want to. I don't know what he sees in Thorin most of the time, but if he's happy like that, then that's all I can ask for. If he were miserable... well, I don't know what I'd do. But it seems like he's got the most perfect of lives, and I'm not a part of it.”

“And what are you going to do, then?”

“I'll leave, probably. I was good company while Thorin was away, but Bofur no longer needs me, and it hurts to be here and... see him. And I'd rather be lonely in the Shire than sad here. But I'm glad I came, it was wonderful. Just. I don't think that's how it's meant to be for me. I'm just Bilbo Baggins, from Bag-End. And Bag-End is where I belong, not Erebor.”

Gandalf gave him a strange look, as if he were disappointed by Bilbo's decision. The hobbit didn't care. He'd just lived a hard couple of weeks, between his feelings for Bofur and Thorin's terrifying behaviour toward him, and all of this was, in the end, Gandalf's fault. If the damn wizard hadn't drugged him, none of this would have happened, so he had no right to be disappointed.

“The choice is yours to make, my friend,” the old man eventually said. “I will think no less of you for wanting to go home, and I'll help you on your way there, if you desire it. Still, I think you should take the time to think a little more about it. And please, do try to eat. You're a hobbit, not an elf, starving out of love doesn't suit you at all.”

That managed to force a smile from Bilbo and the wizard, apparently reassured, left him to his thoughts and to his diner.

 

* * *

 

The moon was high in the sky when Bilbo finally decided it was time to go to bed, and by then he was sure of himself. He had to go back to the Shire, for everyone's good. There was no other way about it. It broke his heart to say goodbye to his friends, but he knew his heart would end in an even worse state if he stayed.

Sad, but sure of himself, he started walking back to the guest's room he and Tauriel lived in. But as he soon realized, he wasn't quite where exactly that room was, and since dwarves had the nasty habit of not using much light in their street, be it night or day (damn tall idiots, what sort of people could _see in the dark_ , really?) Bilbo soon lost his way entirely. Any other would have panicked, he thought, but not him. After weeks of living underground in Erebor, he had picked up a trick or two, especially since Tauriel too had gotten lost once or twice. The thing to do, he knew, was to keep extremely quiet. Even in the dead of night, people were always awake somewhere in the mountain, and since they were dwarves, they made an awful lot of noise. Bilbo just had to follow that, find the dwarves causing that uproar, and to ask them to help him. It was that easy.

Except it wasn't.

Finding noise to follow was easy enough, and walking in that direction even more so. But once the hobbit got close enough to hear the dwarves talking, _properly_ hear them, he realized it would be for the best if he didn't go to them. What he should have done, then, was to walk away from the house they were in, very fast, and hope he's find someone else to help him. But something Tookish overcame him, and instead he hid quietly under a window and listened carefully.

There seemed to be half a dozen of them, by the sound of it, though more might have been silently present in the house. They were discussing something of some importance, and a few seemed very angry about it.

“Still saying killing them is going too far,” one rough voice grumbled. “The line is sacred.”

“No it's not,” another replied dryly. “And if it were, after all they've done, they've given up on their right to sacredness. They bring shame on the entire kingdom, all of them, and if the King has lost all control over them, then he's no better. We can't afford to have weak rulers, nor perverted ones. We need someone strong. We need Dain.”

“We don't need _Dain_ ,” a third voice protested. “The youngest prince will do very well, once his uncles are gone. He's the one who'll get the throne, anyway. Frerin and his tree-fucker have agreed that their bastard will never be in line for the throne.”

“If you trust the word of an elf, you're an idiot, Grettir,” the second voice snapped. “If she'd been trustworthy, she'd never have seduced the prince in the first place. As for prince Fili, if really had the kingdom's interests at heart, he'd marry Dain's Kira.”

“He won't, then?”

“Thrain told me only this morning that it was the real reason why Thorin and his whore were going to the Iron Hills. The fool even said he was proud of the way his grandson had handled things. He's going just as mad as the rest, if you want my opinion, but he's old. He won't hurt Erebor much longer. Thorin, on the other hand, still has years to live, and is a danger to us all. He'll take a commoner as his consort, and after that, the value of good blood will no longer be properly respected. We have to get rid of both of them.”

“Do you have a plan, then, Snorri?”

“Not yet, but if we could strike during their travel...”

“They are leaving tomorrow at dawn,” said a fourth voice, an older one, “and by an incredible coincidence, all the guards that will go with them are my dwarves. Entirely faithful to me, and to Erebor. Of course we know orcs don't strike often between here and the Iron Hills, but they still do sometimes, and we could be unlucky, we could lose both the prince and his husband. No one could blame my soldiers, I'm sure they would have done their very best to protect them.”

There was a moment of silence as the others considered this.

“I see you have thought of everything, lord Ulfr,” Snorri said. “But are you sure your soldiers will not have a change of heart and spare the prince out of loyalty to his line?”

“I chose them well, they all have a personal grief against the crown. They are more likely to kill Thorin too soon than not at all.”

“Then I have no objections. We shall do as you suggest.”

That seemed to be the general opinion, and the dwarves prepared to leave.

Bilbo took a deep breath. He couldn't stay were he was, or he'd be spotted, but he wasn't sure he could go either. His blood had turned to ice when he'd realized the people inside were talking of murdering Bofur and Thorin, and his heart was beating so fast and loudly he was surprised no one else heard it. Things like that didn't happen in the Shire. Normal people didn't murder other people, or at least when they did it was an accident, they didn't _plan it_ and talk about it as if it were nothing more than cutting some wood for winter.

He heard a door open not far, and managed to jump back on his legs, running into a nearby alley and curling there in the darkness, praying not to be found by the conspirators. Luckily, none of them seemed to be headed that way, and the sound of their heavy boots soon disappeared far away.

Once again, Bilbo forced a deep breath. He could not afford to panic. Bofur was in danger, and so was Thorin. He was the only one to know about it. The people involved in the murder were probably very important dwarves, since one was a lord, and they had all talked as equals. Which meant that if Bilbo tried to denounce them, no one would believe him. Even Bofur and Thorin might not trust him. And yet, he had to do something, he had to protect them. After all, no one else could do it. Whether they believed him or not did not matter, he had to save them.

Which would have been a lot less difficult to accomplish if he weren't lost in the middle of the blasted mountain, with the nearest people around the very murderers he had to stop. He grinned sadly. Wouldn't it be quite the irony if he stumbled upon one of them, and they helped him go back to Tauriel.

Still, he had to try.

In the end, it took him hours to find someone would could help him, a baker who had just gone out to fetch water. She patiently listened as he explained he was lost, and told him where in the mountain he was. He had wandered further away from the royal quarters than he'd thought. The chances that he could catch Bofur and Thorin before they left were low, and yet he had to try. The baker couldn't help him herself, but she asked one of her sons to guide him back.

When he arrived at last, Tauriel let out a yell of joy, worried after he had not come back the entire night, but Bilbo refused to answer her question, instead requesting to know where Bofur and Thorin could be found.

“I believe they left nearly two hours ago. Bofur was rather sad not to be able to say his goodbyes to you, but they could not wait, they are awaited tonight in an inn and it's a long ride there. But... Bilbo, you look terribly pale, are you sick?”

“I'm just fine,” the hobbit lied, closing his eyes and looking for an idea. “Perfectly fine. I just need to...”

He opened his eyes again, and his gaze fell on a small sword resting against his night table. _More of a letter opener_ , Balin had joked when he'd given it to him, _but Dwalin will teach you how to use it. Can't live among dwarves and not know how to defend yourself, Mr Baggins._

Bilbo's heart clenched, and he went to take the weapon.

He knew what he had to do.

“Tauriel? I'm going to need a pony, please.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expected foes and unexcepted friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are chapters that are easy to write, and then, there's this. I've struggled a bit with it and I'm still not fully happy but I've decided I had to finish this fic, soooo here we go.

Thorin didn't care much for their guards, if he were to be honest. They were lord Ulfr's soldiers, and as such he knew they were nothing but trustworthy, but he still didn't like them. At least one of them he had met before, though he wasn't entirely sure were. The dwarf looked a lot like the one who had once gotten drunk and been a little _too_ friendly with Kili, a few decades earlier, but he couldn't be the same one. Ulfr would have know that Thorin had broken _that_ dwarf's nose and one of his arms, and he'd never have sent him on that travel.

At least, Thorin hoped so.

And the rest of the lot didn't seem much better. Thorin didn't like the way they looked at him, and he liked even less the way some of them looked at Bofur, as if he were a piece of meat for some or a a repulsing bug for the others. The prince wasn't sure which annoyed him more, but the three days travel was going to feel terribly long if they kept doing that. He couldn't even tell them to stop. He didn't want to be the sort of prince that told people off because they looked at him the wrong way, but he was terribly tempted.

“They're just grumpy 'cause the weather's terrible,” Bofur told him. “Looks like it's going to rain any moment. Not a good day to travel."

“And yet _you_ seem in a wonderful mood.”

“Fifty years without putting a toe outside of that blasted mountain, ye'd be glad of getting out too, rain or no rain. There's even _wind_ , Thorin. Years I haven't felt the wind, not properly. Doesn't count when it's on the balconies.”

Thorin threw him a sad smile. Had they not been on ponies, he'd have kissed his husband.

“I really should have taken you with me earlier, jewel.”

“Not like yer father would have allowed it,” Bofur replied with a smile. “I'll have to thank Frerin and Tauriel. Not being the worst in-law on the family is a nice feeling. Can't wait to see who Kili will want to marry. I'm hoping he'll go for an orc, 'cause then I'll definitely be yer father's favourite, along with Gili.”

Thorin laughed. “Not a very charitable thought. And I'm afraid your wish won't quite come true. My nephew is spending a great deal of his time in the library lately, and I'm fairly sure it is not the books that interest him. I am told that the junior librarian often came with you all on your recent visits of the kingdom?”

“Ori's a good lad. Bit shy and all, but if he marries the young prince, it's not too important. We've just got to hope Thrain won't cause them too much trouble. Ori's parentage is... not all clear, I think.”

“Kili is a shy idiot when it comes to these things. By the time he manages to make a move, I'll be king, and all will be fine. Or maybe _Fili_ will be king before his brother dares to do more than sigh and stare.”

They both laughed at that, and it earned them a few dark looks from the guards. Thorin glared back. He was _allowed_ to have some fun with his husband, no matter what a few soldiers seemed to think about it. He still didn't want to _order_ them to look the other way and leave them in peace, but there was no harm in subtly trying to hint that their judgemental stares were rather grating. So he motioned for the captain of the guards to come nearer, while next to him Bofur rolled his eyes, already tensing as if in preparation of a fight.

Thorin felt hurt by that. He was perfectly capable of holding an entire conversation without yelling or insulting anyone, really. As long as the other party was civile and respectful, then so was he. It wasn't _his_ fault hardly anyone in the entire kingdom managed to be _polite_ these days.

"Is anything the matter, your highness?" the captain inquired rather coldly.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Thorin replied, trying his best to sound warm without being condescending. "I cannot help but notice your dwarves appear to be nervous about something, and that they are giving me and my husband a great deal of attention since we have left the mountain."

"We _are_ here to protect you, your highness."

"And I feel much safer knowing it, rest assured of that. But I still wonder if such great attention to our persons is _entirely_ required."

"You're the heir apparent, your highness," the captain reminded him. "Your safety is our greatest concern, and my dwarves worry about you and your... _husband_."

Bofur hunched his shoulders, and Thorin glared at the captain. He knew that way of saying the word husband. He had heard it before. Always from people who would proceed to explain to him why Bofur wasn't really his husband, and why he should never be, as if they believed that Thorin was an idiot who had just never noticed any of it.

"Thank you, captain," Thorin said firmly. "We both appreciate what you and your soldiers are doing. I will certainly remember it, be sure of it."

"Ye're not thinking of having him punished, are ye?" Bofur asked once the captain had gone back to his place. "He hasn't done a thing."

"If he had, there'd be nothing left of him to punish. But no, I won't take action against him, I will just require that he never works near your or me again."

"Look at ye, all protective as if I was a lil' flower."

"And don't you _love_ that," Thorin replied with a teasing smile.

"Aye, love, I certainly do."

* * *

 

They stopped a first time for a quick lunch, and to let the ponies rest a little. They were good beast, the sort breeded specially for dwarves to be sturdy and strong, but even they could not walk all day long. Thorin was usually the first to ask that good care was taken of their beasts, but this time he found himself greatly annoyed at being forced to stop that way. The more time he spent around their guards, the less he liked the way they whispered together.

When, at the end of their scheduled break, one of them announced that his pony seemed hurt, Thorin’s suspicions grew. The animal had seemed perfectly fine just moment ago when Bofur, sentimental fool that he was, had given bits of apples to all their mounts.

Bofur who had found a tree, and was using a knife to carve something into a fallen branch. That wasn't good, Thorin knew. His husband never did such a thing in public, unless he was nervous.

“D'ye have yer sword anywhere near?” Bofur whispered when Thorin joined him. “Got a feeling ye might need it, love.”

“I never travel without it. Do you have anything?”

Bofur showed him the heavy branch with which he had been busy. It was nicely decorated, yes, but more importantly both ends had been cut into sharp points.

“And to think Lord Ulfr was probably the member of my father's council I trusted the most. Stay close to me if they attack. They might be traitors, but they are well trained traitors, and... what are you looking at?”

“We've got company coming,” Bofur said, pointing somewhere in the distance. There was a small form far away, coming in their direction. “Horse, I'd say. Not a pony, but a true, tall horse. Could be an elf one, but no way to be sure, not from that far.”

“I'd never thought I'd say this, but pray it's an elf one. They're faster than the men's ones.”

Bofur threw a glance toward their guards, who were all pretending to be busy while watching them. The dwarf put a hand around his husband's waist to bring him closer.

“I think they think we're having a romantic moment and staring at the landscape and all,” he whispered. “Thorin, there's two of us and a dozen of them, if they really try anything, we don't stand a chance. What are we gonna do? Ye can't fight them all on yer own!”

“I can if I don't have to worry about protecting you. If they try anything, jump on the nearest pony and ride away.”

“Not in a hundred year. 'M not leaving ye.”

“I am touched, jewel, I really am,” Thorin assured him, looking behind to see that their guards were growing suspicious. “But you happen to be my weak point, and they must know it. They'll try to hurt you, and if you are hurt I do not know how I will react. So I order you to flee. Please.”

“Fine. But if ye die, I _swear_ I'll kill ye.”

Thorin chuckled nervously, and let their foreheads touch for a quick kiss. He glanced one last time toward the horse that was still coming in their direction, and still too far to be of any help should it prove to be that of an ally.

“Prince Thorin, could you come back?” the captain called him. “We would like to have your opinion about the hurt beast, and about what should be done now.”

“We'll be fine,” the prince murmured to his husband. “With any luck, they are just worse than me around other people. Every single one of them.” Then, turning back to the soldiers he added, louder: “I'm coming, captain. Is it really in such a dire state?”

“See for yourself,” the other dwarf said once they were closer. “It must have walked on some sharp stone, the frog is damaged and it can barely put its foot on the ground. Having it walk now is impossible, and riding it even more so.”

“We could send back a messenger,” Thorin suggested, making a point of standing between Bofur and the captain. “Or if it is in such a bad state, we could put an end to its pain.”

“With all due respect, my prince, that pony has been with me for many years, I'd prefer to save it, if possible!”

The soldier _did_ seem to have some sort of connection with the animal, for the poor beast, despite its pain, didn't seem to mind his contact. And yet for all the affection that the captain claimed, he had hurt his mount. Thorin wasn't fooled. He'd been hurt often enough to know the different between the cut from a rock and that of a blade. His hand found the handle of his sword and stayed there, not ostensibly aggressive, but ready to strike.

Bofur suddenly grasped his shoulder.

“Wait, that's Tauriel on that horse!” he exclaimed. “What's that elf doing _here_?”

Thorin turned quickly, as did all the guards. None of them had noticed the approaching rider before, far too busy plotting murder, the prince supposed. And it _was_ Tauriel. She wasn't so far away any more, and her red hair gave her away, especially with that riding gear she often wore. But why Thorin's future sister-in-law was _there_ , alone on a horse, on the middle of nowhere, the prince didn't know.

Trying to make sense of that new problem, he noticed too late the movement behind him and when the captain brought down his sword, Thorin couldn't avoid it entirely. The blade meant for his back cut deep through his side and the pain had the prince fall on his knees. He tried to reach his own weapon, but the movement brought a sharp spike of pain, giving the other dwarf the time to rise his sword again, ready to strike.

An arrow plunging through his left eye put an end to the soldier's attempted regicide.

 _Bless the elves and their aim,_ Thorin thought. He would never again make fun of Tauriel if he survived.

In an instant, Bofur was kneeling beside him and looking at his wound, seeming worried.

“I think we had agreed to you running away if there was trouble,” Thorin reminded him between clenched teeth.

“If ye could fight, yeah. Ye can't. Keep yer hands pressed on that wound, love. I'll do the fighting for now.”

Dropping the branch he had so carefully carved earlier, Bofur took Thorin's sword from its sheath and turned towards the soldiers around them. There had been some confusion among them, first because Tauriel wasn't part of there plan, and then because their commander's death was even less part of said plan, but they had quickly recovered and taken out their weapons. Another arrow took down one that was running towards the royal couple, but that didn't stop the other from coming closer. Whatever reason had them fighting, they were ready to die for it, Thorin realized, or they would have run away already. No one in their right state of mind stayed when there was an elf shooting, and Bofur was already struggling to contain them, unused to fighting anywhere but on a training ground, if even that.

But something strange happened then, and Thorin for a moment wondered if the blood loss was already making him feverish. He could have sworn that, just as Tauriel's horse was passing close to them, the elf keeping not to close so that she could still shoot the traitors, someone had jumped from behind her. Someone short, with curly gold hair and brightly coloured clothes. Someone who had a small but very sharp looking sword in hand.

“Stay away from them!” Bilbo yelled. “Leave them alone, or I'll swear you'll regret it!”

The soldiers seemed to hesitate. Thorin saw one of them smirk.

“I mean it!” the hobbit insisted. “We... there's people coming, you know! Your plan, it's all been discovered, it's failed. I wouldn't stay here if I were you. We're just the avant garde, as it happen, but prince Frerin is on his way, and he's got the wizard Gandalf with him, and if you hurt a single hair of my dwarves, I swear you will regret it very much!”

The soldiers shared a look, and one of them walked toward Bilbo, sniggering. The dwarf raised his axe, shooting a glance behind him to smile at his companions.

And that was a mistake.

Bilbo was small, and had little training, but he was fast, and while the dwarf was distracted, the halfling ran to him and stabbed him in the guts. When he removed his little sword, his opponent fell to the ground, gurgling in pain.

“I said _leave them alone_ ,” the hobbit repeated, holding his bloodied sword in front of him. “This is your one last chance. Leave now, and you've got a chance to survive. Stay, and I'll show you why _nobody_ has ever managed to invade the Shire.”

The soldiers shared a look. Tauriel had stopped shooting at them, probably curious to see what the hobbit would do. Thorin felt just as curious about what that wonderful little man would manage next, but the blood he had lost had become too much for him, and he felt himself falling to the ground.

His last conscious thought was that he couldn't tell if he was ashamed or _pleased_ of having been saved by a creature that had to be half his weight.

 

* * *

 

Thorin woke up in his room. That was good news, he decided. Unless there was a copy of his room in the land of the dead, it meant he was alive. In pain and feverish, but alive. A quick look around him showed him that someone had been with him not long before, and that someone was probably Bofur, judging by the smell of that foul green thing he called tea, and that no one else around them drank. Thorin breathed as deeply as he could. His husband was most likely alive, then. One out of three. And he didn't really worry about Tauriel. Pregnant or not, she was an elf of Mirkwood, and a warrior at that. She could manage.

Which only left the hobbit's state as uncertain.

Foolish little creature, running into danger like that, as if he had _any_ chance to protect them.

Thorin's stomach twisted as he remembered the small halfling stabbing one of their attackers. The other soldiers must have destroyed him, and...

The door of his room opened then, letting in Gandalf, who looked awfully smug. Not that it was unusual. Damn wizard.

“Unless you have good news, I don't want to see you,” Thorin growled, his voice hoarse. He felt thirsty enough that even Bofur's tea could have been better than nothing.

“And a good day to you too, my friend. You seem in a terrible mood.”

“Funny how murder attempts can do that,” the dwarf grumbled. Thirsty _and_ his head felt like it was full of water. “Well, since you're here, what don't you give me some news? How is everyone? Is Bofur hurt? And Bilbo?”

“Your husband is fine, don't worry. He suffered from nothing worse than a few cuts, and a great fright when he saw you unconscious. I have just managed to send him to sleep. He made me promise I'd wake him up as soon as you opened your eyes, though obviously I'll do no such thing.”

“And what of the halfling?” Thorin insisted. “Is he safe? What was he doing with Tauriel? I thought the elf liked him, does she have no concern for his safety?”

For some reason, Gandalf laughed then. Curse all wizards and their sense of humour.

“Bilbo is perfectly fine,” Gandalf assured the prince. “He was the one who discovered the plot against you, quite by chance, and you owe him your life, my friend. As soon as he understood that you were in danger, he rushed to warn Tauriel, and together they warned Frerin, who left with Dwalin and a few faithful soldiers to come and save you.”

“If Frerin and Dwalin are the one who came, why...”

“Bilbo _insisted_ on coming after you, so Tauriel offered to take him on her horse. Had she not done that, I'm quite sure he would have stolen a pony and come on his own.”

“Silly little idiot,” Thorin sighed, more pleased by the hobbit's devotion than he should have been. “You are sure he wasn't hurt, then? Last I remember, he was in a difficult position.”

Gandalf nodded.

“It _was_ rather silly of him. But don't you know, there is something impressive about such a little person killing a warrior twice as large as him. And the fact that they saw your brother's own soldier approaching might have helped, too. Which reminds me, Bilbo and Tauriel promised that no harm would come upon their families if they accepted to be arrested and denounced their master's plot. Your father I do not trust on such matter, so I do hope that you will make sure no one gets hurt for the bad deeds of their kin.”

Thorin frowned, and tried hard to remember why that was a problem. The hobbit could have anything he wanted, as far as he was concerned. He could have asked for Thorin to fall on his knees before him, and the prince would have been more than happy to comply.

Then, at last, his feverish brain reminded him _why_ Bilbo's promise was a bad thing. The punishment for treason was death for one's entire family, to better discourage such things. Not doing so would seem an act of weakness, especially when the plot had been so _close_ to succeeding.

“I know your laws, Thorin,” Gandalf told him. “And Tauriel knows them too, so you may be angry at her if you wish. But Bilbo meant well, and he knew his word would never be enough. He only did what he thought to be best for you and Bofur, and I am sure he would be heart-broken if you made him a liar.”

Thorin was in no state to argue with that. The hobbit could have anything he wanted.

“Fine. I'll talk to my father about this. Gandalf, may I have... water, please? I'm... not so well...”

The wizard promptly gave him some water (thank Mahal, he'd feared he'd have to drink Bofur's poison of a tea) and threw him a worried look.

“You do seem unwell, Thorin. I had promised to stay by your side, but I think it might be wise to fetch a healer. Do try not to die while I'm gone, Bofur would not forgive me.”

“I'll do my best,” Thorin growled weakly. “Please, try not to bring Oin. His salves _stink_.”

Gandalf chuckled. “We'll see what we can do about that. Do try to rest now, if you can.”

Thorin nodded, and closed his eyes. He heard the door open and close again, somewhere far away from him.

 

* * *

 

He didn't know how long he slept, nor even if he did sleep at all. It felt like no time at all had passed when his door opened again, and someone came in. Someone very light footed, he noted distractedly. He opened his eyes, and saw Bilbo, who seemed to be looking for something.

“May I help you, halfling?”

The hobbit squealed, and jumped in surprise.

“I thought you were asleep! I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up!”

“I wasn't sleeping. I think.”

He felt _far_ too tired to have just woken up.

“What did you want then, halfing?” Thorin asked again.

“I was looking for Bofur,” Bilbo admitted. “I need to talk to him. Though I suppose it's only polite to tell you too, isn't it? I'm going back to the Shire.”

Thorin sat up at once. “You are what?”

“Going back,” the hobbit repeated firmly. “There's no other way about it. I've thought about it a lot, and... are you well?”

Thorin had put a hand against his eyes. His head was spinning, and he felt like he might be sick.

“Sat too quickly,” he groaned.

“Oh, that won't do!” Bilbo exclaimed. “You must lie back, at once!”

And before the prince could protest, the halfling dashed to the bed and pushed him back on his pillow. Thorin grabbed the hobbit's wrist.

“Your majesty?”

“Why are you leaving?” Thorin rasped. “You can't _leave_.”

“It's better for everyone involved, really,” Bilbo replied, pulling slightly against the prince's iron grip. “I... you wouldn't understand, but I can't stay, I really can't, it hurts too much, and now there's you too... It's too much and I just _can't_ any more.”

“I won't let you leave,” Thorin growled, dragging the hobbit closer. “You cannot leave. I won't _allow_ it.”

Bilbo tried again to pull away, looking worried. “You... You are sort of hurting me, and...”

“You are staying,” Thorin repeated, his other hand grabbing the halfling's neck. “You are _staying_.”

The hobbit was fighting against his grip now, but Thorin refused to let go of him. Somewhere in his feverish mind he felt that if he let him go, Bilbo would disappear for ever and he couldn't do that, couldn't allow such a thing to happen, not when Bilbo had just saved not only him, but Bofur too.

So he did the only thing that seemed logical at the moment.

He kissed the hobbit.

The small creature's forehead felt like ice against his burning skin. It was wrong, it was betraying Bofur and all they had, but it felt impossibly _right_.

But then, something strange happened. Bilbo stopped fighting and instead moved closer, putting his lips against Thorin's. It felt odd, and the prince was so surprised by it that he released his hold on the hobbit and stared at him.

Bilbo immediately pulled away and ran to the door, blushing and looking like a frightened deer.

“I'm sorry!” he screamed. “I... I shoudln't have done this, I... oh, I've ruined everything!”

And just like that, he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur suffers from a very bad day, and takes an important decision.

It had not been a very good day, as far as Bofur was concerned.

First of all, come morning his husband was still unconscious, and had been since the attack the day before.

Secondly, he had been forced to leave said husband's side, because some damn wizard had bullied him into getting some sleep. As if sleep was any good when Thorin was maybe dying. And he was half sure than Gandalf had spiked his tea, too, because he should never have fallen asleep _that_ easily, not with how nervous he had been.

Thirdly, when he had finally woken up, in Frerin's room, only Dis had been there, and she had refused to give him any news of her oldest brother until he had eaten everything she was giving him.

Fourthly, just as he had learned that Thorin was awake and had a slight fever, Bilbo had come in, eyes red and face pale, to announce that he was leaving Erebor.

“But ye can't leave!” Bofur had protested, feeling heart-broken at that idea. “Ye're a hero! We're gonna have a great party for ye, soon as Thorin's well again!”

The hobbit tensed at the mention of the prince.

“I am sincerely sorry, Bofur,” he said coldly. “But there's no other way about it. I... I don't belong here. You've always lived here, you can't imagine what it feels like to not _belong_. But I... I've got a home, and I miss it, and I have to go back now.”

“I know ye miss yer garden, but, but if ye want I'm sure we can have something arranged. Thorin can certainly...”

The hobbit shook his head, and took Bofur's hands in his own small ones.

“I love you,” Bilbo said with a serious face. “ _That's_ why I can't stay.”

The dwarf stared at him in shock, barely registering Dis slipping out of the room to leave them alone.

“Ye can't love me,” Bofur protested after a moment. “Ye're my _friend_!”

Bilbo laughed sadly. “Ridiculous, I know. And you're _married_ too. It was hopeless from the start. I thought I could live with it. And I did. Until... until recently. I was going to leave anyway, sooner or later, but then yesterday happened and I realized that... Well. Let's just say I've got twice the reasons to leave now. I've talked to Gandalf, and he has agreed to take me back. We're going at the end of the week.”

“But...”

“There's nothing to discuss, really. It's. It's decided. I've decided. I'm leaving. But I thank you for your kindness, and for how welcome you made me feel. I hope that Thorin will soon feel better, and that the two of you will be happy. You deserve all the happiness in the world, after all that has happened to you both.”

Bofur stared at the hobbit, trying to process what he'd just learned. None of it made _sense_.

“I'll just go then,” Bilbo said quickly. “I'm really sorry for... for bothering you with this. Good bye, Bofur.”

He left then, leaving the dwarf alone.

He hadn't felt that confused since the day Thorin had asked to court him, so many years before.

It just didn't make sense. Bilbo had always been such a great and funny companion, he had been someone with whom Bofur could feel safe, with whom he didn't always have to pretend that all was well. Bilbo had been a friend, and Bofur hadn't had many in his life.

To discover that this friend had lied to him all along hurt more than he would have expected.

He needed to see Thorin, he decided.

He needed comfort, and some good news.

* * *

 

“I kissed the halfling.”

That, Bofur thought, was _not_ what people were supposed to tell you when you asked them how they were. He had expected something along the lines of “like shit” or “it's just a flesh wound”. Not... _this_.

“I'm so sorry,” Thorin quickly added. “It won't happen again.”

“And why did it happened this time, tell me?”

“I love you,” Thorin said, ignoring the question. “I _love_ you, tell me you know that?”

Bofur closed his eyes and pinched the bridge on his nose. He hated that day, and at the moment he hated Bilbo, and Thorin too.

“Jewel...”

“ _Don't_ call me that. Not today. Why did ye do that? Do ye... d'ye _like_ him?”

Thorin looked away.

“It won't happen again,” he repeated. “He told me he was leaving. He... I had a fever, I panicked, I... Bofur, I am so _sorry_.”

“So ye do like him, then. Does he know? Did ye tell him?”

 _Twice the reasons to leave_ , Bilbo had said.

“I didn't say anything, I just asked him not to leave and I... kissed him,” the prince said miserably. “He's not interested I'd say, thank the Maker. He didn't really react, he just... did that weird thing with his lips, and then he ran away.”

“What weird thing?”

“He... put his lips on mine,” Thorin explained, frowning and looking as if he were still trying to make sense of that. “It was very strange, really.”

Bofur took a deep breath.

“That, love, was a kiss.”

“Not it wasn't.”

“Yes, it _was_ ,” Bofur insisted. “That's how men kiss, at least, and I imagine hobbits do it too. That, or it's their way to say 'bugger off ye lecherous old thing, ye're married already and yer husband will kill us both if he discovers what ye did', but that doesn't seem too likely.”

Thorin stared at him.

“Oh.”

“' _Oh_ ' indeed. Look, I... ye seem fine, yer wound isn't infected. I'm glad yer not dying. Now I think I'll leave ye alone, and I'll go be furious at ye and that damn hobbit, somewhere where I don't have to see either of ye two idiots.”

Thorin nodded saddly.

“I... understand. I just... I love you, I really do. You have to know that, I love you. The halfling is just... a passing fancy. I love you. I want you. And no one else.”

“Good for ye,” Bofur replied dryly. “Can't say _I_ love ye too much today.”

* * *

 

Bofur warned Dis that he was not to be disturbed, not by _anyone_.

He then picked a beautiful piece of ebony that he'd been keeping for a special occasion, and started carving. He didn't have anything special in mind, but the idea of ruining and destroying something precious seemed very appealing at the moment, and that piece of ebony was just perfect for it.

The first cut of his knife through the wood was far too violent, as were the following ones. But after a few moments of stabbing, he calmed down and started being more careful and delicate in his cuts.

Bilbo loved him. Bilbo had kissed Thorin. Thorin loved Bofur. Thorin had kissed Bilbo.

Which meant the two idiots claimed to love him, but were attracted to each other. Attracted _at least_. It might be more. He hoped it wasn't more.

But even if it were more, they still loved _him_. Thorin wasn't the sort to lie about such things. It would have required diplomacy. And Bilbo had no reason to lie. If he had just wanted an excuse to leave, he could easily have fond a better one.

Bofur looked at his butchered piece of wood. Something nice could yet come out of it. He took his saw and a ruler, and carefully cut it into three even pieces.

He loved Thorin, that much he was sure of. He had for years, and it would take more than a moment of feverish stupidity from his husband to change that. Thorin was who he belonged with, and the prince could have fucked all of Erebor that Bofur would still have loved him.

He was less sure about Bilbo. He liked the hobbit very much, and the smaller creature was a dear friend to him, as close to his heart as Frerin, Dis or even Bifur were, despite how little time they had known each other. He wouldn't have said he _loved_ Bilbo, but there was certainly a great affection on his part, and he had hoped that the hobbit would stay a long while in Erebor, maybe even for the rest of his life. He didn't want Bilbo to leave. And if what it took to keep him was to share a little of himself and a little of Thorin with the hobbit... well, worse things had happened. Bilbo was no dwarf, but his strange, soft little body had something exotic about it that was rather _interesting_ to say the least.

Night was falling when Bofur decided he'd worked enough for that day. His three pieces of wood were now three rough figurines. It would take him a day or two to make anything polished out of them. That was good. He could do with another day of heavy thinking.

 

* * *

 

The following evening, Bofur had three carefully carved figurines before him, two of a dwarf and one of a hobbit, and he knew what to do.

* * *

 

The first thing to do was to keep Bilbo around until Thorin was in a better state. The prince was not in mortal danger, but his wound did weaken him, and that might have been impeding his judgement. And Bofur needed him to be fully capable of making a decision, so as to leave no room for regrets or remorse.

That was easily done. Gandalf owed him for having drugged his tea, and at the hint that it could be very beneficial for the hobbit to stay, the wizard was sold.

“He'll be stubborn,” Gandalf warned him. “Hobbit love propriety even more than dwarves do.”

“I've lived with Thorin most of my life now. I'm used to stubbornness, and I know how to deal with it.”

“If you need any help...”

“I'm sure we can manage, thanks. Don't want any strange herbs finding their way into anyone's food, is that clear?”

Gandalf had the decency to look just a little ashamed.

 

* * *

 

Thorin had to stay in bed for a month, and all that time, Gandalf kept finding new excuses to delay their departure. First there was Thrain who insisted on throwing a feast for the hero of the day, and the wizard had insisted it was terribly impolite to refuse a king's invitation. Then there was an engagement party for Frerin and Tauriel, and what sort of friend would Bilbo be if he missed that? And then Kili was put to contribution as he almost cried when he learned that the hobbit would be present at his birthday, looking every bit like a hurt puppy, if Dis was to be trusted. She probably was. She was the one who had taught her son how to do just that, after all.

And Bofur wasn't sure if Dis knew exactly _why_ he was trying to keep Bilbo in Erebor, but she was helping, her and the rest of the family. The hobbit had only been there for a couple of months, but they all saw him as one of them.

The only one who did not actively try to keep Bilbo in the mountain was Thorin, and that for two reason. First, the prince had not been visited by the hobbit since the day they had kissed. Secondly, now one had told him that Bilbo had not, in fact, left Erebor yet. Bofur had not asked anyone to keep that secret, but he was glad they did. Thorin felt bad enough about the whole thing as it was.

“I am despicable,” he told Bofur, a few days before the healer allowed him to move again. “I don't deserve your trust, not your forgiveness.”

“Ye're an overly dramatic idiot is what ye are,” his husband replied. “I wouldn't be here if I were still angry, would I?”

“I don't deserve you.”

“ _True_ , but I'll still lower myself to yer level. See how good I am.”

Thorin glared.

“I'm trying to be sincere and _repentant_ , why do you have to mock me so?”

“Because ye're being ridiculous and as dramatic as an elf, love. Now eat that soup or I'm telling Oin.”

The prince had groaned.

“The soup tastes terrible, Oin hates me, and I think you enjoy seeing me in pain, because you've been in a very good mood lately.”

“I just like taking care of ye, love. Not often I get an excuse to keep ye in bed all day long, eh?”

“It's not like I'm in any state to take advantage of it, though. You keep insisting I need to rest.”

Bofur grinned.

“I'll make it up to ye when ye're in shape, love. I swear I will.”

“You had _better_.”

* * *

 

Once Oin officially allowed Thorin to leave his bed, Bofur knew he had to act quickly.

Getting his husband somewhere quiet was easy to do. After a month of nothing more than kisses, Thorin was practically _begging_ to be taken somewhere quiet where no one would disturb them, and when Bofur told him to meet him at a certain time in one of the unused rooms of the palace, he readily agreed.

Bilbo was more of a problem. Bofur hadn't talked to him since the day of his declaration, because no matter how much he missed him, he had known that the hobbit would be embarrassed to see him, probably enough to run away from the mountain without Gandalf if he had to. Which meant that getting him to come into a room with Thorin and Bofur would require cunning and a carefully crafted plan.

Or just Ori telling him he needed some help with old books that Kili had found in a certain unused room.

Bofur would have to thank the small librarian some day.

Maybe he'd tell him that Kili seemed to look at his bottom _far_ more than was necessary.

But first, he had a hobbit to take care of.

* * *

 

Bofur hoped Ori would soon bring Bilbo, because he wasn't sure how long he'd managed to retain his clothes. To say that Thorin was eager would have been the understatement of the year, especially after an entire month. And it wasn't as though Bofur himself hadn't missed their intimacy either, but if they were to have a conversation with the hobbit, it would be better to have it while still dressed.

At least at first.

He had great hopes that, if all went well, clothes would be discarded sooner or later.

So he tried to stall for time, showing his husband that beautiful book-case that he'd found, telling him about how delicate the carving in the woods were and wondering if it came from Dale or the Greenwoods or further away, because he'd never seen any work quite like that one. All the while, Thorin tried to slip hands beneath his tunic, and Bofur was feeling his self control slip away.

The knock on the door came just in time to remind him that he had a plan. Thorin threw him a questioning look, then paled as the door opened, and Ori and Bilbo came in. The hobbit had a small smile on at first, but when he saw the two dwarves there the smile disappeared as he went just as white as Thorin.

"I didn't know you'd be here!" he exclaimed, looking horrified. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to intrude, we'll... we'll come back later!"

"Would be a shame," Bofur protested, "since ye're the reason we're here."

Both Bilbo and Thorin stared at him.

"I didn't know that," the prince said slowly. "You said..."

"I know what I said, love, and I know what I'm doing. And what I'm doing is what's right. Namely, to talk to ye and our Mr Baggins to settle a few things. If Mr Baggins doesn't mind, of course?"

"I'm not sure it's a good idea, really," the hobbit replied. "I can't imagine how anything good will come out of it, and I think we had settled it already, to be honest. What could there be left to say?"

"A great deal, really," Bofur assured him. "There's a few things ye don't know, lad, and I'm sure ye'll be glad to know it. For example, ye probably don't know that Thorin kissed ye _first_."

Bilbo gasped at that, and Bofur felt his husband tense at his side, the memory of this small betrayal still too recent and raw, but there was no other way about it if they wanted to keep the hobbit around.

And indeed, Bilbo's curiosity was piqued. Bofur made a small motion of the head and Ori left, silently closing the door behind him.

"What do you mean he _kissed_ me?" Bilbo asked carefully, and Bofur was relieved that he didn't try to deny what had happened. "I happened to have been there, you know, so I'm fairly sure I'd have _noticed_."

"Ye'd have noticed about as much as Thorin did when _ye_ kissed _him_. Dwarves don't do that the same way ye hobbits do it. We do it the _logical_ way." To prove his point, he leant toward Thorin and kissed him. His husband tensed even more at that, but he allowed the contact anyway. Bofur turned again toward Bilbo. "See what I mean?"

The hobbit frowned. He did not understand at first, until he suddenly _did_ , and a warm blush spread on his face.

"Oh. Oh! You mean...! That was...! _Oh_!"

He stared at Thorin in disbelief, but the prince was looking down at his boots, refusing to acknowledge the other two. Bofur had mercy then and took his husband's hand.

"Cultural differences, what a _mess_ ," he jokes weakly. "But at least now we now everyone wanna get in everyone's pants, so there's one less confusion. And since that bit's been cleared up, I'd say we tried to do something 'bout it, eh?"

"What do you mean by that?" Thorin asked, finally looking up. "As far as I can tell, not _everyone_ here is having unwelcome feelings, and certainly not for everyone else."

"That's 'cause I hadn't told ye that our Mr Baggins has a soft spot for _me_ too," Bofur replied. "As for me I don't dislike him at all, and I'm sure I could learn to more than _like_ him easily enough, if I'm given a chance. Which is why I brought us all here today. To give ourselves a chance, if ye catch my meaning."

"You're not actually suggesting that we..."

"That would be most improper!" Bilbo squeaked. "It's... Bad enough that we... we are all _males_ , and I know that things are different for dwarves, but in the Shire that would be unheard of! And... and you two are married, it's... married people don't do that! And I'm... and there's the problem that we're not even of the same _specie_ , and..."

"I won't mind if ye don't."

"The ho... Mr Baggins is right, though," Thorin protested. "People are tolerating our situation now, but what you're suggesting... And you don't have to do that, jewel, I've told you already that I... it's a passing fancy, nothing more."

"That's right," Bilbo insisted. "You've said yourself I was only your friend, and I'd hate to... have you _forced_ to tolerate such a thing for my sake. _Our_ sake, I suppose."

That wasn't going quite as well as Bofur had expected. Though to be honest, with people as overdramatic as these two, expecting that he'd only have to say “let's all be lovers” to have them answer “yes great what an excellent idea, let's start right now”.

And to think _they_ were the ones who had kissed each other, but _he_ was the one having to convince them now.

"Ye're both idiots," Bofur informed them with a kind smile, "and if ye keep at this, I'll start feeling _insulted_ , thank ye. If ye two really think I'm the sort of dwarf who'll just _tolerate_ a lover they don't want to please my husband or my friend, ye're _very_ mistaken. I'm suggesting this 'cause I happen to _want_ it. Ye're right that I've never seen ye as more than a friend before, Bilbo, but as I've said I _like_ ye, and I'm more than willing to try this."

"But..."

"What the worse that can happen, really? Ye said ye were going to leave. Well, I'm saying ye stay a little, see if that works, and if he doesn't, ye go home and ye know that at least ye tried. Better have remorse than regrets, as they say. And _ye_ , Thorin, find a better excuse than 'people will talk', 'cause as far as anyone's concerned, Bilbo's a very good friend of mine, and everyone knows it. We three have been spending lots of time together already, no one has said anything yet, have they?"

Thorin frowned, but nodded.

"You really... want this, then?"

"Don't ye?"

The prince glanced at Bilbo, who managed to blush even redder.

"I... wouldn't be adverse to the idea," Thorin admitted. "But I think Mr Baggins is of a different mind. He rather look like a terrified rabbit, ready to run if either of us so much as _approaches_ him."

Bilbo did look rather uncomfortable, there was no denying it. But as soon as Thorin compared him to a rabbit, the hobbit straightened up, glaring at the prince.

"You certainly know how to make yourself appreciated, prince Thorin," he said with a smile that was far too polite to be sincere. "If I had not seen how kind and caring to be toward other people, I think I would really not like you at all, considering your behaviour toward _me_. Implying I'm a coward, really, after what I've done for you! You're lucky to be that _pretty_ , really."

" _Pretty_?"

Bilbo nodded.

"I certainly wouldn't have kissed you otherwise. You do look nice, if nothing else."

"But couldn't you have chosen a better word than _pretty_?" Thorin insisted, looking half offended. The other half of him looked rather pleased, Bofur noticed. His husband _had_ always been a little vain. "There are many available, even in Westron. 'Handsome' would have done very well, or I could have tolerated 'beautiful' maybe, but _pretty_?"

Bilbo gave him a long look, as if to consider these options, then shook his head.

"No, I think _pretty_ really fits better. You _do_ have long hair. And very _fine_ eyes.”

He dared a shy smile, to which Thorin answered with an amused smirk.

“I still don't think it's a good idea,” Bilbo said, still smiling. “Not to mention how it could work when we... well. _You know_.”

Bofur laughed. “If ye're willing to try this, I promise we'll find a way to make it work. Thorin can be very inventive when he wants, right, love?”

“I'm sure we'll manage, yes,” Thorin replied, his tone leaving no doubts as to the fact that he probably had thought about such things in the past.

Bilbo sighed tragically, smiling even more than before.

“Oh, well. Let's try this then. Two dwarves against one poor hobbit, what can I do, really?”

* * *

 

“Well,” Bilbo said a long while later.

“Same,” Bofur approved.

“Indeed,” Thorin added.

“Tales of the endurance of dwarves. Not an exaggeration, then. Not that I'm complaining. Good surprise.”

“Hobbits have nothing to be ashamed of,” Thorin assured him. “Didn't expect that.”

“Anyone up for another round?” Bofur asked. “All in favour, say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye!”

“Aye too. Three against zero. _Great_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well,we're getting near the end. Only one more chapter now!:D


	11. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrain makes an offer, and gets an answer.

No one questioned the fact that Bofur and Thorin barely left their room for the next few days. There was nothing unusual there.

Some people did wonder where Bilbo was spending his days. But Ori assured all those who asked him that he was busy with an illuminated copy of the Silmarilion that he’d found. To the same question, Gandalf would say that the hobbit was with Bifur, studying dwarvish lores. And Dis would just point out that what the little one did was no one’s business but his own, and that people would do well to be less curious.

When, after a week, Thorin was forced to face his responsibilities again, Bofur went back to showing Bilbo around Erebor. No one mentioned the fact that, suddenly, the hobbit wasn’t talking about leaving any more, and that he seemed in a much better mood than they’d ever seen him. No one mentioned either that, maybe Bofur too seemed more relaxed, and that he would often put a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder or on his back, even when Thorin was with them. _Especially_ when Thorin was with them. And no one mentioned that Thorin too had become a lot more tactile toward the little one, and infinitely more _polite_ too.

They did mention to Thorin that he’d better not hurt the other two, though.

It put him in a terrible mood.

“I don’t know why Dis and Frerin always threaten _me_ ,” he complained. “I’m their _brother_.”

“Yeah, and ye get angry when people fuss over ye,” Bofur laughed. “Besides, Bilbo and me are a lot cuter than ye are, so it’s no surprise we’re their favourites. Just shows they’ve got good taste.”

Bilbo sniggered at that, which earned him a glare from the prince. Immediately the hobbit stopped, looking guilty. He had noticed that Bofur and Thorin often bickered that way, and that it was always playful and tender, just another way to show their love. But he wasn’t sure _he_ was allowed to do it too, or if it was only something for the two of them that he couldn’t be a part of.

It was a little difficult to find his place between two people who had known each other for most of their life and had been perfectly at ease together for years. Some days they looked so perfect together that he wondered why he shouldn’t just leave them alone, since they obviously did not need him to be happy. Thet had managed for years without him, and they certainly could do it again.

Somehow, when he started having such thoughts, Thorin always seemed to suddenly be fascinated by whatever book he was reading at the moment (usually to criticize his taste for Elvish poetry), or he would ask him to sing something. Bilbo had a feeling it was the prince’s way of trying to make him feel better. Maybe. Thorin still had some slight communication problems when talking.

On the other hand, the prince was a lot more comfortable than Bofur with the more physical side of their new relationship. The wood-carver was still rather shy about touching Bilbo, but Thorin had no such hesitations and found plenty of excuses to touch him whenever they were behind closed doors.

But the two dwarves were both just as confused by hobbit kisses. They seemed to find that way of doing things really strange. More than once, Bilbo tried to kiss them, only to have them burst out laughing. He, in turn, didn’t quite understand the intimacy of dwarvish kisses, and found them a little boring, but they pleased the other two so much that he couldn’t really complain.

It was not always easy, but they were trying to make it work, and work it usually did.

* * *

 

Thorin had known, of course, that it was only a question of time before his father realized what was going on. He had expected that it would take a couple more months, though. He would have liked to enjoy more than six months of peace with Bofur and Bilbo before Thrain tried to meddle in his business again.

But when the king had asked him to go alone to his personal chamber one afternoon, Thorin had known what to expect.

“I demand that you stop your affair with the halfing this moment.”

No surprise, really.

“I’m not having an affair, and this is no business of yours.”

“Don’t try to play on words, son,” Thrain warned him. “I don’t care if Bofur is fine with it, I don’t care if he’s taking the creature to bed too. This must stop. Now.”

“Or what? You’ll complain about me in front of your council and wait for one of them to kill me?”

Thrain tensed at the accusation. They had all trusted lord Ulfr so much, but he had been the king’s personal friend for years, and the betrayal had been particularly hard on him, especially once it had been learned that all members of the royal family were meant to be assassinated.

“If you end this… this scandalously ridiculous affair you’re having, I will give you want you have wanted for years.”

“You can give me nothing I want, father,” Thorin replied with a smile. He already had all he wanted, and then some more.

“There’s one thing you don’t have yet, and that only I can give you. I can let you marry Bofur. Not the… shameful joke you two have tried to pass as a wedding for years. A real alliance, that no one, not even I, will ever be able to object to, let alone to break. And all you have to do is to sent the stunted creature you’ve invited in your bed back to wherever he came from.”

The offer was a surprise, and for a split second, Thorin was tempted, honestly tempted. He cared terribly for Bilbo, and he might even have loved him, if he were very honest, but Bofur was his other half, had been for years, and would be until the end of his day. He could doubt many things, had doubted many things in the past year, but this was one thing he had never questioned.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Bofur by his side.

But this was _not_ something he needed to do.

He burst out laughing, and Thrain looked at him as if he’d gone mad.

“This is your one chance!” the king insisted. “You’re shaming us all, fucking that… that thing, that halfling! I’ll have him sent away anyway, but if you’re the one breaking it, then…”

“You won’t get rid of Bilbo that easily,” Thorin replied, grinning. “I won’t allow it. Dis won’t allow it. Frerin won’t allow it. The children won’t allow it. If you attack him, you’re attacking us all, and we won’t have that. Bilbo is one of us, and he’s staying.”

“Even if it means never marrying your whore, and risking more assassins?”

“We’ve managed so far, father, and we will keep managing, with or without your approval. But thank you so much for your consideration, and I hope to see you at tomorrow’s feast.”

Thrain was pale with anger, but he said nothing. Thorin smiled,  bowed before his father, and left the room.

All was well.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!   
> This is the end!:D  
> I want to thank everyone who commented, left a kudo, bookmarked or just read silently this fic! I never expected so many people to get interested in what is, at the end of the day, a rather pairing, but you guys read this and commented and made me a very happy author, so thanks a lot for that!!:D


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